Red Ember
by Aerileigh
Summary: Ginny, captured and held at Malfoy Manor, discovers that the plans of the aristocratic family are far more wicked and ambitious than anyone, even Lord Voldemort, ever guessed. Unfortunately for Ginny, she's the pawn in the very center of them—but she's not giving in without a fight. Draco/Ginny.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine, but belongs to J.K. Rowling and others more talented than I.

* * *

Ginny woke with a start. Something was not right.

The small redhead sat up slowly, pulling the worn quilts up around her shoulders. Her tiny bedroom in The Burrow was eerie in the moonlight, and Ginny wished that she'd taken the time to clean it better. The heaps of clothes and schoolbooks left over from her final days at Hogwarts a few weeks ago looked like shadowy creatures, and the Weird Sisters posters on the wall looked strangely evil.

Moonlight filtered through the gently blowing curtains, and Ginny caught her breath. She had closed that window because the night air made her throat scratchy. Slowly, Ginny edged a hand out to grab her wand from her nightstand.

It wasn't there.

Slightly panicked, she checked the floor. Nothing. Had she left it on her bureau? A quick glance around the room did not reveal it, and Ginny began to feel slightly frantic. With a calming breath, she reasoned that perhaps it had rolled onto the floor. It was silly to be so frightened about her wand being gone when she was safe in her bed. She maneuvered out from under the sheets, but as her bare foot touched the floor, she heard a loud crash from downstairs, followed by screaming.

For a moment, she was frozen to her bed. It took every ounce of her Gryffindor courage to breathe, much less put both feet back on the floor and look under the bed. A random assortment of socks, books, balled up parchment and an Ireland hat from the Quidditch cup in her third year all made dim outlines in the darkness, but her wand was nowhere in site.

A loud bang from downstairs made her jump, and she grabbed the quilt from her bed, threw it around her shoulders, and slowly crept toward her bedroom door. Quietly turning the handle, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, and crept down two flights of stairs until she was above the kitchen.

From her vantage point at the top of the staircase, she couldn't see the pandemonium below, but she could easily view the shadows of everyone in the main room. Judging from the shapes of the shadows and rate at which Unforgivables were being thrown about, the Death Eaters had found The Burrow at last. Ginny wanted to run down the stairs, but without her wand, she'd only get in the way. She might be courageous, but she wasn't stupid.

"Crucio!" screamed a male voice, and one of the twins—Fred—was flung back against the wall. Ginny covered her mouth to stifle the scream as Fred looked up at her. His eye was blackened and a large gash on his arm was bleeding heavily, and he was writhing in pain. Angry, scared tears began to form in Ginny's eyes. This was not the plan! Her family was supposed to survive this bloody war and live happily ever on. She tasted blood and realized that she'd bit down on her lip hard enough to break the skin.

Another torture curse hit Fred in the gut and Ginny made to run down the stairs, but Fred grimaced and shook his head. "Run," he mouthed.

A sudden flash of green blinded Ginny for a moment, and when she glanced down at her brother, he was gone. Lifeless eyes gazed up the stairs, and her heart went into her throat as she began to follow his instructions as well as she could.

There was a fireplace in her parent's bedroom. Maybe if she flooed to Hermione, or to Harry, she could get away and warn the rest of the Order. She hastened back up the staircase and half ran, half tiptoed down the short hall to their room. She wrenched open the door, stepped inside, and remembered to breathe.

Without a wand she couldn't secure the door, so she jammed a chair against it and turned to face the darkened room. Her parents' room was jammed with odds and ends that didn't belong in the rest of the house, and Ginny tripped over an array of cookbooks and Muggle mobile phone bits as she hunted for the Floo powder, wincing every time there was a crash below.

She paused at the mantle, which was full of random picture frames. Smiling Weasleys at all stages of childhood grinning at her, shaking Christmas gifts and proudly displaying lost teeth. Ginny grabbed a family portrait that was taken long ago at the end of her fourth year. Bill and Charlie had been around that summer here and there on Order business, and Mum had managed to get them together long enough to get a snapshot. Of course, Percy was missing, but that couldn't be helped. Ginny clutched the frame and continued her hunt for the powder.

The fire flickered gently, barely more than embers, but it lit the room well enough, and Ginny spotted a flower pot of Floo powder on her Mum's bedside table. Ruefully shoving aside an old Lockhart monstrosity, Ginny grabbed the powder and turned toward the fireplace.

As she stepped up to the dying flames, she realized that the house had gone eerily silent, and she wondered for a moment if, perhaps, it was safe to come out. Perhaps she should peek downstairs, just to be sure—then she heard rough voices as heavy footfalls thumped on the stairs.

She felt her heartbeat in her mouth. Scrambling to the fireplace, Ginny threw in a pinch of Floo powder. As the flames began to glow green, someone began to wrench the door open.

"Harry's!" she cried, as loudly as she dared, and stepped into the fireplace just as a figure slammed the door wide open. She glimpsed two Death Eater masks, and then everything swirled away.

She tumbled out of the fireplace at Harry's. The small living room was dark, but she could see a prone figure on the floor.

It was Harry, and he wasn't breathing.

Ginny screamed as she ran to the body of her hero. He was cold and rigid, and clearly had been killed hours ago. He'd been slain by a killing curse, Ginny realized, swallowing a stone-sized lump in her throat. They'd been so certain that Voldemort would want to take him alive. With a shuddering sob, she closed his eyes and stood.

A quick glance around the room showed signs of a horrific battle, but Ginny didn't feel like staying around to find clues about how they'd found him or what they'd been after. If the two Death Eaters back home had hear her, they'd be certain to follow her here. Her mind raced, and she remembered that it was Hermione's turn to keep watch at the safe house in Scotland. There was no way they could have found that. Ignoring the little voice telling her that they'd believed the same about the Burrow, she stepped into the fireplace once more.

The safe house was cold and dark as well, and Ginny cautiously began to explore it.

"Hermione?" she called into the silence, "It's Ginny. There's … there's been an awful attack. Hermione? Are you here?" The grief was barely beginning to sink in, but a few tears found their way to her eyes. Her family … gone. Harry, their last hope, dead. Ginny felt an overwhelming feeling of despair rising in her chest. Was there any good in this magical world that couldn't be tarred?

Rounding a corner, Ginny's worst nightmare grew even more awful, for Hermione's door was ajar, hanging from one broken hinge, and burned into the door was the skull and snake that had put fear into the hearts of wizards for over twenty years.

The pale red head crumpled in the hall.

"I'm not going in there. I'm not!" she began to sob. Shivering in her nightgown, her tousled hair glowing in the breaking dawn of the next day, Ginny cried harder and louder and longer than she ever had, and her heart broke ten times over.

* * *

The sun's rise eventually startled her into action. If the Death Eaters had gone this far and killed so many in one coordinated attack, it certainly wasn't safe to remain here. With no wand, her only means of escape was via Floo. Her mind, numbed from her tears, began to speed up. She could borrow clothes from Hermione and Floo to Diagon Alley. It was a public place, which meant it would be easier to hide in a crowd and potentially easier to create a long term plan. She could also procure a wand from Ollivander—she realized with a sinking heart that she had no money, but surely he'd give her credit after hearing her story.

Since she refused to enter Hermione's room, she searched the rest of the house. Thankfully, Hermione had a neatly packed tub of off-season clothes in the closet, and while the cloaks were warm for the summer, she found one that wasn't terribly heavy and some Muggle clothes to wear underneath. Muggle London might be the safest place to be, she reasoned.

In a hidden drawer she found money, just a few Galleons and a handful of Sickles, and she pocketed the lot. Stepping to the fireplace, Ginny called, "Diagon Alley!" and stepped into the green flames for the third time.

This early in the morning, The Leaky Cauldron was completely empty. Ginny imagined that the same was true for the alley, and so she slid into a booth out of sight of the bar and the door, and began to make a plan. However, as she attempted to piece together the events of the night, her adrenaline began to wear off, and she fell into a quiet stupor. A barkeeper entered the room and began to polish the bar without noticing Ginny. She was so tired; so exhausted. She wondered when Ollivander's opened. If she was going to get through this, she needed a wand.

She started. A wand! The window! Ginny gasped and bit her lip. The door to her room had been closed, but her wand was missing. Someone had entered her room and taken it, and left the window ajar. At least one Death Eater had seen her, asleep in her bed, and left her there. Perhaps they had all entered that way; it could have been warded incorrectly. But why hadn't they killed her? Judging from Harry's home and Hermione's safe house, both had been attacked prior to The Burrow, so it wasn't as if they had begun killing after they invaded her home. They must have left her alive on purpose. The thought chilled her. The idea that Voldemort wanted her to live was perhaps scarier than if he wanted her dead.

A church bell began to peal faintly, and she stood suddenly, startling the barkeeper. She flew to the courtyard and hurriedly tapped the bricks. Even if Olivander wasn't open for business at seven in the morning, there was a chance he was already in his shop. She practically flew down the street and pounded on his door. The little man opened cautiously.

"Ginny Weasley? Merlin's beard, girl! Come inside, come inside." Ginny stepped into the musty shop, panting for air.

"Mr. Ollivander … there's … the Death Eaters … I need … a wand."

"Good gracious! Let's see, ashwood and unicorn hair? Slightly springy?" Ginny nodded gratefully.

He turned to his shelves of dusty little boxes. "What happened, dear girl?"

"There was an attack on The Burrow. My entire family, minus Percy … gone. Hermione too … and … and Harry."

Ollivander dropped the box he was holding. "Harry Potter? Dead? You are certain?"

Ginny nodded. Ollivander knelt to pick up the box, and when he stood up, Ginny could see the tears in his eyes. He handed her the wand.

"It might not take as well as your first, but the unicorn hair is from the brother of your first, and it should serve you well. What do you plan to do?"

Ginny took hold of the wand and the tip lit up with golden sparks. It felt familiar, yet eerily different.

"Thank you, sir. I had considered living in Muggle London, but I'm afraid I don't know where to begin. I never did well in Muggle Studies. I never even visited Hermione over summer hols like she asked." She gulped down a sob.

"What about Hogwarts, dear? Minerva has given me the password for the Floo there for such unorthodox, dangerous situations as this. Of course, it's summer term and as I understand it, you just finished your seventh year so you can't be a student, but it is still the only place You-Know-Who can't reach."

Ginny felt relief wash over her. "Really? Right now? That would be … that would be perfect."

"Yes, yes of course. The sooner the better. Here, now, my fireplace is toward the back." He handed her the Floo powder and she took a pinch. "The password is Albus," he whispered.

Ginny threw the powder into the flames. "Albus," she called loudly, "Hogwarts!" she stepped into the flames and into the Floo network. The grates rushed by, and before she knew it, Ginny stepped out of a large fireplace into a beautifully furnished room. The oriental rug under her feet was plush and she was certain that the deep green curtains were velvet.

Ginny felt her heart stop for the millionth time that day. This was not Hogwarts Castle.

"Why, if it isn't the littlest blood traitor," drawled a voice. "I was wondering when you'd drop in."

* * *

**A/N:** This is my first fanfic. I've been an avid fanfiction reader for several years, and D/G is and has been my favorite for most of it (I've spent more time reading fanon than canon at this point).  
**Please review, especially to critique.**

_11/05/11 - I know it's been a long time since I've updated, and part of the reason is that I'm unhappy with the quality of the first ten or so chapters. But I have no plans to abandon this story, and therefore, I've decided to edit and embellish. Hopefully it will inspire my wayward muse to continue._

_If you're just beginning to read Red Ember, please don't give up because the first chapters are rocky. As was my goal, I've grown in the last three years, and I know how to use commas properly now. Usually. ;)_


	2. Chapter 2

_"Why, if it isn't the littlest blood traitor," drawled a voice, "I was wondering when you'd drop in."_

Ginny froze.

"Malfoy?" she whispered and slowly turned. To her right on a gorgeous black leather couch sat Draco Malfoy, looking the picture of aristocratic power. He slouched back lazily in the seat, arms reaching across the back on either side. His perfect hair and chiseled features were almost statuesque, but his arrogant smirk reminded Ginny that she was facing a Malfoy.

"Yes, little Weasley? You look a little surprised to see me." He arched a perfect eyebrow.

"I . . . I . . ." Ginny was still trying to reconcile it all in her mind. She was utterly exhausted. All she had wanted was to arrive at Hogwarts and collapse in a puddle of tears and exhaustion, and now by some strange magic, she was staring down the enemy.

"Perhaps you were not clear when you called out the name of your destination," drawled Malfoy, leaning toward her, "or perhaps you bumped into the wrong grate?" His voice dripped with saccharine politeness, and Ginny's confusion kept her feet firmly planted to the ground as he stood and continued, "Maybe your Floo powder was bad. I've heard that can happen." He circled her slowly, like an animal on the prowl, and met her eyes.

"No . . . I . . ." She tried again, but his look caused her to lose her words again.

"Or maybe, little traitor, I've been tracing you all the way from your pathetic little home." She felt her blood freeze as his cold grey eyes met hers, his words full of perfectly controlled venom. "Perhaps I have gained complete control of the Floo network in and out of Diagon Alley."

Ginny, startled into action, whirled on the fireplace and glanced at an ornate container that had to hold Floo powder. Using the Accio charm, she threw a fistful into the fireplace. The flames sparkled green, but Malfoy ignored them. His gaze penetrated her skull. It was terrifying.

"Hogsmeade!" Ginny shouted, and stepped into the fireplace. Of course he could follow her, but since he couldn't exactly run her down in the middle of the Three Broomsticks without arousing attention, she hoped she could Apparate from there. She stepped into the flames and whirled away. The last thing she saw was Draco's fierce grey glare.

Ginny fell down onto a plush oriental rug, face to face with expensive dragon hide boots. Draco towered over her.

"Perhaps, little traitor, I have you here and you can't escape."

Ginny was on her feet in a flash. The original shock of landing in what she assumed was Malfoy Manor was replaced by adrenaline the second time. She bolted for the door, throwing a hastily aimed hex at Malfoy and another to lock the door behind her. Thankfully this room opened into a great hall, and what was clearly the front door was only a short distance across a magnificent parquet floor. Ginny flung the door open and felt a strong arm grip her around her waist.

Draco pulled her close to his body and she could feel how solid his chest was through her robes. He shut the front door and half carried, half dragged her back to the fireplace room. Ginny, used to her brothers dragging her about in a similar manner, kicked and clawed, but he ignored her. Angry tears began to well up in the fiery redhead's chestnut eyes, and when Draco let go, she kicked him as hard as she could. With a low growl of pain, Draco grabbed her arm and pushed her face first into the wall. He held her there with the weight of his body and hissed in her ear,

"You are a feisty little wench, blood traitor. You really ought to learn your place. Shall I teach it to you, or will you behave on your own?" Ginny struggled against him, but he was too strong.

"You are truly evil, Malfoy," she managed, "and I don't intend on learning anything you have to teach me." He pressed her into the wall, his whole body pressed against hers.

"Fine then. But let me warn you, little traitor, that I think you are worthless. I do not like being disrespected by worthless creatures. I want you to do as I say, Weasley, and I always get what I want." He reached into her robes and Ginny's world froze. Surely Draco Malfoy wouldn't do _that_. He felt her stiffen and laughed softly. "Don't like being this close, little one? Don't worry. I'm just making sure you don't send any more bat bogeys my way." He slipped out her newly acquired wand and snapped it on the wall. It cracked with a definite finality and he tossed it to the side.

"Now," he whispered in her ear, "about this running away business." Ginny shivered. His words fell like heavy stones into her heart. She could sense that this Draco was much different than the boy he had been during her fifth year. He was powerful, and deadly so. He spun her so that she faced him, the wall at her back. He grabbed her right wrist and pointed his wand at it. His hands felt cool against her racing pulse. "_Invenio necto_" he whispered, drawing the tip of his wand in a circle around the blue veins that stood out from her pale wrist. Ginny gasped as the circle glowed with a bright white light and then revealed the Malfoy crest. The light sank into her skin, leaving no mark, but Ginny could feel the magic burning. It spread up her arm, growing more painful as it reached her neck and spread through her whole body. Her vision swam, and when Draco released her she sank to the floor.

Draco looked down at the unconscious young woman at his feet. Her red hair spread out like a halo on the wooden floor, and her freckles stood out on her pale skin. Draco smirked; the last two years had been good for the fiery Weasley. Her awkwardness had been replaced by real beauty, and Draco Malfoy was never one to ignore a beautiful woman. He picked her up and carried her to a room upstairs. The room was shuttered and the wallpaper was peeling, and other than a rickety wooden chair and a pile of blankets, it was void of furnishings. It was on his mother's list of rooms to redecorate, but in a manor of over a hundred rooms, Narcissa had higher priorities. Draco deposited Ginny on top of the blankets and left the room, making sure that he locked and warded the door three times over. Then he went back to his study to wait for his father to return.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was a patient man. He had realized over two decades ago that Voldemort would certainly be able to gain power, but would never be able to maintain it. Voldemort liked to rule with fear, and as a result, the Death Eaters were a brutal bunch. Even as Lucius shuddered when his sister-in-law recounted her vile adventures, he realized that their addiction to violence would lead to a chaotic world, not a world worthy of his control. Lucius was after control.

"Draco!" he called, opening the door to his son's study, "Ah, good. Did you find the Weasley girl?"

"Of course, Father. I had to make some minor adjustments to the Floo network, but it's all back to normal. They'll have no idea she's here." Draco's boots graced the top of his desk, and he had the Daily Prophet in his lap. "She's no threat. Stupid little thing. I almost don't understand why you were so upset when she got away last night."

"She is a threat because we don't know what she knows. Perhaps she knows where the other members of that foolish group are. Sources tell me that her other brother—the dragon tamer—and the werewolf are out of the country. If I could get to them, I'd feel more comfortable about launching the next stage in our plan."

With a smirk rather like his son's, he changed the subject. "You should have heard them celebrating. They are growing wilder. The violence tonight was entirely unnecessary, but they act like it is a matter of pride to shed the blood, regardless of the Dark Lord's orders. His control will surely slip."

"I don't see why I had to remain here during the celebration. I should have liked to witness that. I'm sure Aunt Bella was as ridiculous as usual."

"I wanted that girl. After those idiots like your aunt killed her family, I need her to find her brother and whomever else I can. If you hadn't lost her through the Floo, you could have come as well."

"It wasn't my fault. Goyle should have stunned her when he entered her room, instead of deciding to 'take her wand.' Bloody fool. If I hadn't noticed she wasn't downstairs, we would have never been able to locate her so quickly."

Draco pulled his feet off of his desk and threw the paper on top of it. An image of the burning Burrow glared from the front page. "When are we going to have control over this?" he asked, gesturing at the headline: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Strikes Known Friends of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lucius glanced at the paper. "In time, Draco." He read the headline again and smiled. "It appears that they have yet to discover that the Boy-Who-Lived is now the boy who died."

He heard a cry from above. "Did you remember to ward that room?" Lucius asked sharply.

Draco looked at the ceiling. "Yes, but I suppose I forgot a silencing charm," he said, moving to stand, but Lucius raised a hand.

"I'll go," he said. "I'd like to meet our guest."

* * *

Ginny awoke with a dull ache all over her body. She was completely disoriented and freezing, despite the summer heat. Shivering, she curled up next to the wall and pulled the blankets around her. The memories of the last day came flooding back, and she remembered her brother's empty eyes, Harry's cold body, and the mark on Hermione's door. She wondered if the bartender in the Leaky Cauldron was a spy, and if Ollivander had set her up for this.

She realized that she was crying. Could she trust anyone?

She certainly could not trust Malfoy. She recalled his cruel words and the helpless feeling of being completely pressed against the wall, and the strange spell he had performed on her. Her helpless tears turned bitter, and then angry. Who gave Malfoy the right to treat her like a house elf? To patronize her and then belittle her, and then perform dark magic on her?

Filled with fresh rage, Ginny went to the door and began to pound on it with both fists. Her hair was completely unkempt by now, and it streamed around her face so that wisps of red clouded her teary vision. She beat on the door until her fists were bruised purple and she collapsed, crying out, in a heap in front of the door. When the door swung open a few moments later, it caught her shoulder and she cried out again.

"You!" she yelled angrily, but was instantly quiet when she was faced with the calm power of the father and not the smirk of the son.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," he said softly. She was silent as he looked her over slowly, finally crossing her arms and mentally daring him to try anything. He smiled cruelly. "No need to fret. I won't hurt you," he said, and she suddenly felt the tickle of Legilimency.

"Stop!" she cried out. "That's—stop!"

His smile did not fade, but the tickling feeling subsided. "You really need to take better care of your appearance, my dear. Why don't you get some rest? Tomorrow is a big day. You don't want to look like you've been crying all night." He shut the door and Ginny screamed after him, a long, wordless cry of anger and despair all rolled into one. He opened the door forcefully, and this time it caught her hard in the shoulder.

"Miss Weasley, I forgot to mention that you are permitted to scream all you wish, but not only is this room warded and locked better than anything you might imagine, but I am also placing silencing charms all around it. Sleep well."

His polite words were underscored by a wicked glare, and after the door shut, Ginny sank to the floor. Gathering the blankets around her, she fell victim to the exhaustion of her prolonged nightmare and fell into a fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Ginny blinked slowly. Her red hair fell in front of her face and contrasted brilliantly with the gray of the room, and as she lay there, she let her eyes shift in and out of focus. When she stared at the peeling paper on the wall past her hair, the image looked red-gold. It began to blur and run, and Ginny realized that she was crying again. She felt like a shell. Ginny picked up her arm, half surprised that it moved, and wiped her eyes. Slowly she sat up and instantly wished that she was a shell—her body _hurt_. Her neck and back ached from the night on the hard floor, and both arms still hurt with the sting of Draco's grasp from the previous day.

Ginny crept over to the windowsill, rubbing her sore neck. The sun was gently casting glowing yellows and pinks across the grounds of the Manor. The park extended as far as Ginny could see, with manicured lawns and gardens leading into a rather pleasant looking forest. She gave the sash a halfhearted tug, knowing it would be sound. Besides, she was three stories up. Instead, she sighed, propped her chin in her hands, and pulled her hair back in front of her eyes. Green and red, green and red . . .

* * *

"Draco," Pansy simpered, "Draco, where are you going?"

Draco glanced at the dark haired witch in his bed. She sat up and gave him a truly pathetic look that he was sure she meant to be endearing, complete with big eyes and a pouty lip. With some girls, this method worked on the younger master Malfoy, but Draco had known Pansy far too long. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his armoire to finish buttoning a gray Oxford. He sat on the bed to adjust his sleeves and within seconds, Pansy was at his neck.

"Would you leave off, witch?" he snapped, "I haven't time for you."

"You had plenty of time last night," Pansy cooed, snaking her arms around his waist and toying with the lowest button. Draco brushed her away and stood up.

"Yes. I did. And now I don't. If you're going to be clingy, Pans, then we're through. We have an arrangement, remember?"

Pansy's face went from questionable pout to unmistakable anger. "Oh, sure I remember. But we're not really that friendly and I do not comprehend the so-called benefits."

Draco responded to her anger with indifference. "You seemed to comprehend them well enough last night, which is exactly the reason I can shag you and leave you, even after all of these years. So shove it, Pans. Get dressed and get out of here. I've got very important business, and Daphne is coming by later." He finished dressing, ignoring the glower from the bed.

Realizing that he would continue to ignore her, Pansy tried a different tack. She sat up and lazily began to walk through the room, putting on her clothes as she found them. "You know, Draco, I don't know what you see in Greengrass."

"Well, I'm dating her, Pansy. Not you. Start there."

"But then why have me over for the occasional shag? If she is so wonderful, then why Floo me periodically in the middle of the night?" She saw Draco stiffen for a moment, but he turned with a smirk.

"Pansy . . . what kind of Malfoy would I be if I didn't have a girl on the side? If you want someone loyal, go find a Hufflepuff. If what I hear about them is true, you'll come crawling back to my bed in a fortnight." He clasped the Malfoy crest on his cloak and turned back to the mirror. "Get lost, Pansy. I'll call you when I want you again."

"Bastard," she hissed as she walked out of the door. For a moment she thought of betraying him—a few choice memories in a pensieve left for Daphne—revenge would be sweet. But then he would hate her, and that would never do, and there was a very good chance that Daph knew. If she was Daph, she'd know and keep her mouth shut. So she quietly left the room.

* * *

"Miss Parkinson," asked Mr. Malfoy coolly meeting Pansy in the front hall, "I trust you slept well?"

Pansy hadn't the grace to blush. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy, sir. The comforts of the Manor are sublime." She smiled sweetly.

"And if you are here, then Draco must be out of bed. Good day, Miss Parkinson." With a smirk not unlike his son's, Lucius left Pansy to Apparate home and headed to Draco's study.

Despite his son's habit of having multiple girlfriends, Lucius was proud of him. Draco was handsome, charming, and ruthless. What more could a man want from his progeny? He entered the room to find his son already at work. Casually, Lucius picked up a photo of Daphne that sat on the edge of the desk. She beamed up at him and winked.

"You know, Draco, you better have a plan for Pansy. If she should tell tale to Daphne things could go badly for you."

"Oh, that's all taken care of." Draco was absorbed in papers on his desk and didn't see his Father's raised brow. "Daphne and I have an agreement, and Daphne is too smart to argue with me about Pans. She knows as well as Pansy that the company I keep is not up for debate." He dropped his quill and looked up at his father. "Has the post come?"

"Yes." Lucius threw the paper onto Draco's desk and sat down opposite him. Draco smirked at the headline: Potter Killed by Death Eaters! Panicked Wizards Riot at Ministry!

"So, it worked in our favor, hm? How is the ministry today?" Draco glanced at his father, whose eyes glinted with a scheming cold delight.

"Closed until further notice. If you read on, you'll learn that over one hundred of those fools lost their lives, both rioters and ministry officials, upon learning that their invincible golden boy is dead. It is actually better than we could have planned. It is likely that they will enact some sort of emergency government and then hold general elections later in the year. If we encourage this chaos and bide our time, this could be most opportune." Lucius glanced at his timepiece. "Speaking of chaos, have you seen to the girl?" Draco let out an irritated sigh.

"I don't see why that chore is my responsibility. I've had Pansy to deal with, so no."

"The Dark Lord wants to see her today. She will be questioned and he'll decide what to do with her. She was in a pathetic state last evening and I'm sure she's worse now. He may have her killed, but even though she comes from a blood traitor family she does have pure blood, and he may want her alive. Go ensure that she's ready." He arched an eyebrow as Draco opened his mouth to protest. "Don't you dare argue. You might not answer to Miss Greengrass or Miss Parkinson, but you _do _answer to me." He stood and stalked out of the room, cloak billowing behind him.

* * *

Draco sighed as he lifted his wand to remove the wards. It wasn't that he minded seeing the witch again. She was easy on the eyes and a pure blood to boot. He had enjoyed pressing her against the wall, seeing the fire in her eyes, and hearing her little gasp. No, Draco didn't mind seeing the Weasley girl at all. Maybe he could even have a little fun with her.

Ginny had given up on the tears. They kept clouding her view of the park but she let them be. She imagined that she was a princess in a fairy tale, exploring those peaceful woods. If she squinted she could see herself, a red headed little figure, darting in and out of the trees.

A bang from the door sent her flying. She hopped to her feet and turned around to see Draco enter the room. He advanced toward her but she backed away.

"Good morning, little traitor. Did you sleep well?" Draco's voice was once again dangerously kind, and Ginny stared at him with wide brown eyes. She did have pretty eyes, he noticed. "Not going to answer me? That'll never do. You're going to answer a lot of questions today, and it would be a shame if you started off on the wrong foot." He had backed her into a corner. She dodged to the right, then the left, but Draco put his arms on the walls and penned her in.

"Merlin, little girl, you are a mess." Ginny's hair was matted and hanging in her eyes, and her face and arms were smeared with dirt from the dusty room. "I suppose I'll have to clean you up." He reached for his wand. Like lightening, Ginny jumped into action. Dodging his arm, she grabbed for the wand and grabbed the tip.

"No, you bastard. I did not sleep well. Satisfied?" Ginny could feel how strong Draco's magic was behind his wand, but her own strength was surging back as well. She was certainly not a Weasley for nothing. She used her other arm to grab his wrist and began to pry the wand away from him, for once glad that she was the youngest of so many brothers. Unfortunately, she forgot about his free hand, and found herself on her knees, wandless. Draco crouched down in front of her and bound her hands with a simple spell.

"You do not break easily, do you? I think my father had you chalked up as defeated." Ginny gave him her fiercest look.

"No," Ginny spat, "I don't. I mean, I won't." Her sudden snap back to reality was accompanied by adrenaline, and as the past night came flooding into Ginny's mind, she resolved to not become that shell again. Yes, most of her family and friends were dead, but not all, and she was alive.

Draco touched his wand to her cheek and Ginny shrank back, but he just uttered a Scourgify charm. He pulled her up to her feet and stepped back, giving her a long glance. Ginny was suddenly aware of her appearance—she was still in Hermione's old clothes from two days ago, her hair was tangled, and she felt grimy despite Draco's charm. Self-consciously she hugged her arms around her chest and looked up at him. He lifted an eyebrow and uttered a few more words, and she found herself wearing a simple green dress. Draco stepped toward her again and touched her hair.

"I need to find a house elf to take care of this. I'm afraid I've never studied charms for feminine hair." He let his hand travel down her cheek and over her collarbone to the strap of the dress. "You know, _darling _. . ." he drawled, and Ginny caught her breath and stepped away. She could handle nights of sleeping on the floor and she was pretty sure she could handle torture, but if Malfoy decided to follow through on what she was pretty sure was going on in his mind . . . she decided to stop thinking about it.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy could feel the Mark beginning to burn. Across the breakfast table, Narcissa Malfoy could tell that it was bothering him. "Just go, Lucius. Staving him off does no one good." She poured herself another cup of tea. "You are bringing Draco, aren't you? And that Weasley girl?"

Lucius nodded and stood. "Be back soon, my dear."

He arrived at Ginny's holding room in time to watch the house elf finish her hair. The girl was eating a muffin like she hadn't eaten for weeks, not days, but she glared at him when he walked in.

"My, this is a change. Draco?"

"Our traitor has informed me that she will not break. Ever. As though it's a challenge." Draco smirked, and Ginny wished she had her wand. A bunch of bat bogeys would be terribly satisfying.

"I see. Is she ready?" Lucius asked, less entertained. The Mark was growing more painful. "Take her side-along, and be careful not to splinch her. I do need her whole."

Draco nodded and produced a dark cloak for Ginny. He pulled her close and Ginny was suddenly aware of how strong Draco Malfoy was. Then, just as suddenly, she felt the squeeze of apparition and the coldness of a dank, dark hall.

Lucius told Draco to wait with her and disappeared through the large doors at the end of the vast hall. Ginny could hear the raucous greeting he received and the terrible cackling laughter of a few deranged Death Eaters. She quailed and gripped Draco, then quickly let go.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

He stepped behind her and whispered in her ear, "Where do you think, _darling_?" Ginny hated the way he was calling her that. She felt her fear gathering into knots in her stomach, so she took a deep breath and tried to make them disappear, but the doors were thrown open and Ginny was drawn forward.

The Death Eaters laughed and jeered, their faces twisted into dark excuses for expressions and their voices mercilessly cruel.

"Such a pretty little . . . muddy traitor . . . look at her . . . what I wouldn't . . . remember her mother—how she screamed? . . . I want . . ."

They moved apart and Ginny saw Lucius standing on a dais, and on a throne . . . Voldemort. His appearance was more disgusting than Ginny remembered. He didn't look remotely human anymore. He leered at her, then snarled,

"Well, Ginevra Weasley. A member of the Order of the Phoenix. You grace us with your presence." Ginny felt her knees give way. Was she under the Imperius curse and didn't realize it? Or was she just that afraid? She couldn't be that afraid. She was a Weasley. She was brave.

Voldemort continued, "We are hunting the Order, Miss Weasley. You have seen our love for . . . hunting." Ginny couldn't help but flinch. "But I'm afraid we've run out of trails."

He stood and walked forward until he was standing in front of her. "Tell, me, Ginevra, where I can find your brother, Charles." Ginny looked up at him, resolute and silent. "Or your friends; Remus Lupin perhaps? Nymphdora Tonks? Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Ginny said nothing, and the Death Eaters began to jeer again, swirling in a mass of angry chaos. It was as though they fed upon the disorder.

Voldemort turned to Lucius and called over the crowd, "Take her to the back room and administer the serum."

Lucius hauled Ginny roughly to her feet and dragged her away, as Voldemort joined the dark crowd.

The back room was a smaller chamber, just as dark. It smelled of mildew. Lucius removed a small phial from his robe and grabbed Ginny's head. He tipped it up and forced the contents into her mouth with practiced expertise and held her there until she swallowed. "I'm sure you are aware of the effects of Veritaserum?"

"Yes" Ginny found that she couldn't help but reply. It was frightening.

"What is your full name?"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley."

"And how do you feel right now?" Fine! Ginny wanted to yell, perfectly fine! Instead, "Frightened."

Lucius smiled, and she became even more frightened. _I am brave_, she thought as Voldemort entered the room. He looked questioningly at Lucius, who nodded. Grinning maniacally, the Dark Lord turned to Ginny.

"Where are the other members of the Order of the Phoenix?"

_Brave._ "I don't know."

Voldemort shrieked and turned to Lucius, who responded, "It is possible, my Lord. Ginevra is young and was at school until a few weeks ago. Her family may have protected her from specific knowledge."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as though he planned to drill into Ginny's skull."Is Lucius correct?"

"Yes." Ginny squirmed.

"What do you know about the Order?"

"I know the location of the safe house," she gasped, feeling suddenly nauseated as she remembered finding Harry there, cold on the floor.

Voldemort laughed. "Not so safe, is it? Do you know who the secret keeper was?"

She struggled to tell as little truth as possible. "No."

"Do you know if the others are still in England?"

"No." Ginny was beginning to feel very dizzy. The effects of the grotesque man, the dank room, and fighting the overwhelming Veritaserum were taking a toll. _Brave._

"Do you know any details of the Order's plan?"

"To find and destroy the Horcruxes. I don't know how, or what they are." Ginny wavered, and then collapsed on the floor in a dead faint.

When she began to come to, she recognized that she'd only been unconscious for a few moments. She carefully kept her eyes closed.

"Well, Lucius, what shall we do with her? She clearly knows nothing new to us, and my followers are clamoring to have her as a plaything."

She felt Lucius bend over to pick her up and did her best to act as lifeless as possible.

"My lord, she is a pure blood. Despite her traitor status, I do not think it would be fitting to give her to that crowd." Ginny remained limp, but her blood ran cold. Give her to the Death Eaters?

"Yes, you are right. It is a shame though, because the other chit is useful, and after their work the other night they will grow angry if I deprive them."

"Let them raid, my Lord. It will only solidify the fear of the Wizarding world if they continue to wreak havoc, and surely it will satiate them. I'll take this one back to Malfoy Manor. Mayhap she will be useful."

Lucius walked out of the room and Ginny peered through her lashes. Draco was leaning against the wall near the door, watching the insanity with a look of disdainful amusement.

"Thank Merlin you're done, Father. If Aunt Bella asked me one more time to . . . " He noticed Ginny. "So she's alive?"

"Yes, and coming back with us. I have a feeling that we'll need her before we're through."

Ginny barely registered any of this. Her mind was still reeling from Voldemort's words: _"The other chit is useful."_


	4. Chapter 4

The next evening, Ginny was still preoccupied with Voldemort's words: "The other chit is useful." Obviously, the Death Eaters had another captive. But who?

She forced herself to relive that horrible night. She knew that Fred was gone, yes. Malfoy had led her to believe that the rest of her family was dead as well, but for all she knew he was a lying prat. There were others, of course, associated with the Order. Luna, maybe—or Fleur. Ginny shivered at the thought. She replayed the conversation between Voldemort and Lucius in her mind for the millionth time.

"_My lord, she is a pure blood. Despite her traitor status, I do not think it would be fitting to give her to that crowd."_

"_Yes, you are right. It is a shame though, because the other chit is useful, and after their work the other night they will grow angry if I deprive them."_

"_Let them raid, my Lord. It will only solidify the fear of the wizarding world if they continue to wreak havoc, and surely it will satiate them. I'll take this one back to Malfoy Manor. Mayhap she will be useful to another end_."

Ginny sank down in front of the window, viewing the growing darkness absently. Voldemort had insinuated that the other captive was not a pureblood. Was Luna's mother a Muggle? Ginny couldn't remember. Ginny shivered and glanced out of the window.

The Malfoy garden was lit in the evening with small glowing lights, and the sparkles glinted in the black waste of the moonless night. Ginny leaned her head on the window frame and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and for the first time in three days, she smiled. Somewhere out there she had a friend who was still alive.

Of course, she realized, she was in danger. Though Voldemort had decided to spare her life, as long as she was in Malfoy Manor waiting for her captors to decide upon her usefulness, things could turn ugly quickly—very ugly. The younger Malfoy had made it clear that he had few scruples, and the older one was up to something, Ginny was certain. If Voldemort was truly in charge, she would be dead already. Yes, Ginny decided, something was up with the Malfoys, and she didn't feel like staying to find out her intended role. Fortified by the hope of finding a friend and energized with fear, the redhead began to plan her escape.

* * *

"Draco, darling, you'll muss my hair and no one has seen it yet!" Daphne's lithe arms rested around Draco's waist and she looked up at him with brilliant blue eyes. Draco grinned evilly at her.

"You consider me no one? I'm going to have to muss up more than your hair to make you pay for that," he hissed into her ear, pulling her body toward his own.

She moaned softly as he kissed her hard, but met him with equal passion. She sank into his arms obediently, leaning into his muscular chest. Holding her head in his hands, he deepened the kiss and she moaned again.

Daphne Greengrass was an intelligent woman. Underneath the perfect complexion and the flawless manicure, she knew that she had to play her cards carefully to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy and end up his wife and not his whore—or dead, since his connection to the Dark Lord wasn't exactly a secret. While he had never threatened her—no, Draco was a perfect gentleman—there was no denying the danger that he so carefully contained behind his polite manners.

"There, mademoiselle, you have been properly mussed." He smirked at her bright swollen lips.

"Really? I'm not sure, Draco." Daphne bit her lip and playfully widened her eyes. She turned so that Draco was at her back.

"Oh no? You want more?" he whispered into her ear, hands sliding over her satin encased waist.

"Well, you see, my hair is one thing, but you haven't even touched my gown." Daphne slowly slid off a satin strap, making sure that cool grey eyes followed its path down her shoulder.

"I see."

Daphne slid off the other strap and let the silvery gown pool at her ankles.

"Ah. In that case, I think I'll postpone our reservations."

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Have received your correspondence. The ministry greatly appreciates your help during this time of need. Of course, the confidentiality you requested will be maintained per your conditions._

_Sincerely,_

_Gawain Robards, Head of Auror Office_

Lucius grinned, a terrifying visage. The stars must be perfectly aligned, he mused. Never in his life could he have planned things this perfectly. Of course, it was the fact that he had planned so meticulously that brought this about, for he was able to attack every opportunity that presented itself.

They would never know what hit them.

"Damn." Lucius pressed his left forearm. He had really wanted a little more time before visiting the Dark Lord again. Nevertheless, he picked up his walking stick and Apparated.

Voldemort was alone in his throne room, thank Merlin. He extended a deathly white hand and beckoned for Lucius to approach. The tall blonde man did so, kissing the disgusting limb with an air of total subservience.

"Lucius," rasped the snake-man, "there is a matter . . . a matter of grave import. You must be sworn to secrecy."

"My lord, you know your secrets will follow me to my death and beyond."

"Lucius . . . I am not strong. This body, while it contains what is left of my soul, is good for little else. Each time I cast a spell, it decays a little more." He wheezed, curling in on himself before rasping, "I have decided to name an heir, Lucius. I have decided to name your Draco as my heir."

Lucius felt uncharacteristically giddy. Apparently not only the stars were in line, but the moon and planets as well.

"I have only one stipulation for Draco, Lucius."

"My lord?" Lucius fervently hoped it wasn't some fool initiation practice. Draco would not be pleased if he found out that he had to rape and murder Muggles.

"I want my heir to be strong in body and mind, but stronger still in magic. Draco is my choice because he is exceptional, but I want him to be truly so. My successor must perform the _Sang Primoris_, a deep and ancient magic that will make his magic unsurpassable and everlasting. For years I have sought the spell, and at last I have acquired it, but it is too late for me."

"My lord, I know of the spell from legend. But my lord, the requirements of the spell include a marriage, do they not?"

"Yes. I trust that will not be a problem. Bella tells me the boy is desirable."

Lucius flinched. Bellatrix often displayed a little too much fondness for her nephew.

The Dark Lord held out a rolled scroll. "These are the incantations. I know you will carry them out to the finest detail. But," he hissed, "if you or Draco are unable to cast the spell, I shall select a different successor."

"I understand, my lord. I shall see this achieved."

"Then you may take your leave."

Lucius stood and bowed. After taking the aged parchment from the decrepit man, he Apparated immediately to his study. The yellowed manuscript was long and written almost entirely in ancient runes. He sighed and lit a lamp. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Every few hours, Ginny calculated, a house elf would pop into the room to provide her with food, then Apparate out, presumably to the kitchen. Based on the increasing noise from her stomach, Ginny guessed one would be along shortly, and she was ready.

CRACK! A small house elf appeared in the room, holding a meager tray of food. It set the tray on the floor quickly and Ginny hurried over to the tray, but instead of hungrily grabbing the food, she latched on to the big ears of the little creature just as it was about to pop out of the room. Ginny willed herself not to be splinched, and when she opened her eyes she found she was in one piece in front of warm kitchen fires and about thirty pairs of wide, shell-shocked eyes.

Ginny stood made a beeline to the largest fireplace. A manor like the Malfoy's wouldn't have every kitchen fire connected to Floo, but the largest was tall enough for a grown man to stand in, and Ginny guessed it was her ticket out. Adrenaline coursed through the redhead's veins as she hurriedly located the Floo powder and tossed it into the fire, hoping against hope that the Floo was working again.

The flames began to glimmer with a green tint, and for a moment, Ginny faltered. She had come here from Ollivander's. Perhaps the Death Eater's influence spread throughout Diagon Alley. Perhaps even to Hogsmeade. Where else could she hide? Realizing quickly that every second mattered, she shoved her fear down and under her control. One of those little buggers was probably reporting her missing right now. Boldly, Ginny stepped into the fireplace. "FRANCE!" she yelled. Hopefully that would be good enough.

The grates whirled by faster than ever. Ginny had never Flooed internationally before, but she did remember that while the networks were connected, they were independently controlled. So if the fiasco that led to her capture was a result of Voldemort's influence on the British Floo network, she should be that much safer overseas.

Ginny spun out of a small fireplace and onto the floor of a small room. It appeared to be a little cottage.

"Mon dieu!" shrieked the room's only inhabitant, a wizened little woman. Ginny realized that her inability to speak French was probably going to be a problem. She hoped the woman was at least a wizard. If not, the French network needed some definite reorganization.

"Hello," said Ginny tentatively, "I'm, er, running away?"

She pantomimed running. The little woman cocked her head, uncomprehending.

"Er, do you have a wand?" Ginny seized a knitting needle and performed a swish and flick that would have made Flitwick beam. "A wand?" she repeated.

"Ah, un baguette magique?" The woman gave Ginny a toothless grin and waddled across the room. She slid a box out of a shelf and removed a thin piece of wood. Ginny almost fainted with relief—and hunger. The odds and ends the elves had been bringing her were barely sustaining her, and she was still recovering from that ugly Veritaserum incident. She lurched forward and caught herself on a chair, which unfortunately was a rocker that was covered in an afghan. The chair tipped forward, the afghan slid with it, and despite her best efforts to the contrary, Ginny toppled to the floor.

"So much for French sophistication," she muttered, the blanket covering her head.

The woman let out a quiet cackle and with a wave of the wand, set the chair to rights. Ginny stood up slowly, feeling more dizzy every moment.

"Can I have some food? Eat?" She mimed eating and the old witch's eyes gleamed with understanding.

After a hot bowl of stew and nearly a pitcher of water later, Ginny felt less dizzy, but terribly antsy. Chances were the Malfoys were out looking for her by now—maybe all the Death Eaters. They could probably track the Floo like they had done before, and Ginny looked guiltily at the kind old woman who sat knitting in the rocker. Had she endangered her life?

Ginny motioned for the wand and the woman handed it to her. Ginny marveled at her trust and wondered briefly if all the wizarding world beyond the reaches of Voldemort was so accepting. She thought for a moment and then cast _Protego Totalum _in front of the fireplace. The impenetrable shield might provide some protection from Floo-trackers. Next, she charmed her hair blonde and her eyes blue, and turned the thin green dress into a long black cloak. She thought better of that, though, and transfigured the robe into a Muggle pair of jeans and a black jacket. If she was going to hide, blending in with Muggles was her best bet.

Feeling uncomfortable and not at all like herself, Ginny turned to the old woman, who had watched her transformation with mild interest. Ginny knew that she couldn't take the woman with her and desperately prayed to the gods that Voldemort's band wouldn't torture the poor lady. Hesitantly, Ginny returned the wand.

"Merci," she said carefully, crossing her fingers that this was the right word.

The woman beamed.

Ginny stepped out of the cottage and into the dark French countryside. The stars shone against the velvety blackness of the sky, giving her just enough light to make her way down a rocky path and into a forest. Tired and full, Ginny sat at the bottom of a tree to rest. Her eyelids drooped.

"Stupid, really. Can't go to sleep in a dark wood, now can you? Look, I'm already going mad, talking to myself. Using a crazy lady's wand to change my hair blonde, probably putting her in danger, sitting in some foreign part of the world? Probably get eaten by wolves next."

A theatrically-timed howl cut off Ginny's muttering. She scowled and decided to climb the tree so that at least she'd be safe from beasts of the four-legged kind. She shimmied up the tree expertly and wedged herself between an up turned branch and the trunk. Wrapping her arms and legs around the tree, she stared at the pattern the dark branches made in the starry sky and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean, 'she's gone,' you stupid, bloody elf? Damn it to the ninth circle!"

A tossed pillow hit the house elf in the face, and it promptly picked it up and began repeating the action.

"Milly is sorry (WHAM) sir, for (WHAM) losing the girl (WHAM) traitor. She is very (WHAM) quick with her movings (WHAM)."

Draco groaned and sat up in bed. Daphne slept next to him, her hair cascading over the pillow, the golden blonde curls luminous against the dark silk. She moaned quietly in her sleep as Draco fought with the sheets and extricated himself from the massive bed.

"Bloody sheets. Bloody fuck. I'm going to kill her, absolutely bloody kill her."

He wrenched the pillow from the elf.

"Find me some clothes, then go find something harder than a fucking pillow to hit yourself with. Fucking elf."

Draco growled to himself and paced the room. He'd need to sever every single Floo connection in the Manor with this bloody girl here. How the hell had she managed to Apparate with an elf? He strode over to the fireplace and ran a hand through his hair. The girl needed to be taught a lesson. Or several. She certainly was a Gryffindor, planning an escape like that. Fucking idiots, the lot.

Grabbing his wand, he through a bit of powder into the fireplace and called forth the latest activity. He heard Ginny call "France!" and shook his head. Smart girl, to give such a broad location and overseas to boot. She'd be nearly impossible to track that way. But then, he didn't need to bother. He'd placed the _Invenio Necto_ spell on her on the first day. Draco smirked, pleased with himself. He'd have her home and begging for forgiveness in under an hour.

Milly returned with clothing and Draco shrugged on a dark robe. He gave the elf a swift kick and uttered a spell under his breath, then tapped his wand to his wrist. The Malfoy crest glowed briefly and Draco Apparated away from the firelight of his bedroom into a dark, starry forest.

"I'm going to fucking kill her."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: In this chapter, Draco says and does some things that help this story merit the M rating. Please consider yourself warned.

* * *

A chilly wind blew through the upper branches in the night-shrouded wood, and Ginny Weasley stirred in her perch near the top of a tall tree. She pulled her jacket tightly around her and clung to the wavering branches. Her mind, un-edited by a good sleep's rest for five nights now, raced wildly. She had to procure a wand. Without the ability to do magic, she was trapped and defenseless. Her panicked brain considered sneaking back into the French witch's cottage and stealing her wand, but that would probably mean certain death for the woman and Ginny's Gryffindor courage wouldn't allow her to do anything so cowardly.

Inwardly, Ginny cursed her so-called bravery. It was the reason that she was up here, stuck in a tree in an alien country without a wand and without a plan. Someone like Malfoy would have had all of this carefully planned out. How did the trio do it time and time again? Harry and Ron had rushed into dangerous situations countless times, but they had always had Hermione's intelligence and the support of numerous great wizards, not to mention a good deal of luck. Ginny felt quite alone. Her mind was growing numb with tiredness and worry, and her legs and arms were sore from clinging to the tree. She determinedly mopped up the tears that managed to eke their way out onto her cheeks and tried to sleep.

A sharp crack made her heart jump. It sounded like Apparition, and Ginny felt panic bubble up as she eyed the ground, scanning it warily for signs of a Death Eater. The trees were in full leaf and she couldn't see the ground clearly, but that meant that someone on the ground couldn't see her. She strained her ears, but heard nothing. She sighed. It was probably just an animal stepping on a branch and snapping it. She relaxed and let her mind wander again to keep it from racing. Maybe she could Floo to Beauxbatons tomorrow? They might know how to get in touch with the Delacour family. Slowly, Ginny succumbed to sleep.

* * *

The sun glowed warmly on Ginny's face when she woke up. Too stiff to move, she sat with her eyes closed and listened to the birds sing their morning songs. Her face hurt; she was going to have a bark shaped pattern etched into her cheek. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

It was a lovely day. The dawn light filtered through the rich green leaves and filled the forest with a charming fairy-tale glow. The freshness of the new morning lifted Ginny's spirits a great deal. Yes, she could Floo to Beauxbatons. She could find a wand and friends there, both of which she desperately needed. From there she could set about finding Order members and freeing whatever mystery captive the Death Eaters had. She quickly climbed down the tree.

"Going somewhere, darling? Or did you think I would be fooled by a fucking glamour charm?"

Ginny's heart stopped cold at the drawling voice. Slowly, she turned around. Draco Malfoy was sitting at the base of the tree just opposite hers. His hair was tousled but his eyes were fierce, and for a moment, Ginny froze. Though he sat lazily, his muscled arms crossed over a black cloak, he was obviously terribly angry. She felt her leonine audacity rage within her to overcome the boot-shaking fear, and before Malfoy could open his mouth again, she bolted.

Branches smacked her cheeks, whipping tiny cuts into her hands and face. She dodged and wove through the brush, blindly fleeing whatever came behind her. Her mind was blank other than the simple directive to keep moving. She could hear him behind her—or could she? She came to a small creek and leapt over it, and spared a moment to glance over her shoulder. Malfoy was nowhere in sight. She palmed an egg-sized rock and kept running. Her lungs were burning and she had a growing stitch in her side, but she continued to sprint.

Then, suddenly, he was on top of her. He grabbed her from behind, the force of the blow pitching her forward, and she landed face down in the dirt with Malfoy on top. He didn't spare her ribs, practically crushing her with his weight. Both the steadiness of his breath and the pounding of his heart resonated in her own body. He used one hand to turn her head to the side and hissed in her ear.

"Don't you ever, ever run from me again, witch. Do you want to learn what it's like to be broken, _darling_? I could break you so badly that you wouldn't even be able to _sleep_ without my permission. Would you like to learn that lesson?"

His voice was low, cold, and terrifying. Brave, she thought.

"Oh, yes," he muttered, and she felt the tickling hint of Occlumency. "Would you like to see how quickly your bravery would melt away under a Cruciatus curse?" She gasped sharply as she felt him begin to pry deeper into her mind. "Or how about this, darling? How _fucking_ brave will you be if I pick out all your worst memories and darkest secrets?"

There was Harry, dead on the floor. She couldn't help the tiny whimper.

He stopped, smirking, and sat up on his knees, still straddling her, and gripped her hair with one hand so that she couldn't move her head. He drew out his wand and she flinched.

"_Finite incantatum."_

He pointed the thin stick of hawthorn at Ginny's head, and the hair in his hand turned from blonde to red. Her eyes, full of fear but with an undercurrent of pure ferocity, shone from blue to brown. She kicked furiously underneath him, but only succeeded in wearing herself out. His knees kept her hands pinned to her sides, and she squirmed frantically. He pulled her head back down by her hair, a motion that brought tears into Ginny's eyes.

"Already? Will you ever bloody learn?"

He drawled the words slowly, as though he was speaking to a disobedient child. His calm demeanor was unsettling; Ginny wished he would go back to yelling at her instead. He sat up enough to flip her over to her back, still crouched over her, and used one hand to pull both of her arms above her head. He lowered his face until it was mere centimeters away from her own, and Ginny could smell the aftershave on his neck. She attempted to free her hands, but his piercing glare and rock hard grip stopped her cold.

"I'm going to say this once, Ginevra, and you are to remember it," he breathed. "Is that clear?"

Ginny nodded. She was fighting the urge to cry, which was probably a losing battle. Malfoy had complete control of her body and had proved he wasn't afraid to hurt her, physically and otherwise.

"Good. You are mine. Until the Dark Lord commands otherwise, you belong entirely to my father and me. Since you don't seem to comprehend that, I shall explain it to you just this once." He paused and used his free hand to lift Ginny's chin so that his silvery eyes stared directly into her chocolate ones. "You do as I say, when I say it, and you do not ask questions. You will not show me disrespect. You will be both obedient and compliant. I decide what respect is. I decide what obedience is."

Tears fell freely from Ginny's eyes but she didn't make a sound. Draco lowered his voice even further.

"Displease me, _darling_, and you will suffer for it."

The words hit like arrows and turned to heavy stones in Ginny's heart. Draco stayed there for a moment that felt like a decade, his nose a hair's breadth from hers, his chest nearly touching her own. Ginny shivered involuntarily at the close proximity.

Draco blinked and released her arms. He ran a slender finger down her cheek and caught a tear, then smoothed her hair away in a manner that was almost gentle. He traced his finger down her neck, over her shoulder and slowly down her side, never breaking eye contact. He paused at her waist; Ginny's jacket had hiked up just a bit in her previous struggle for freedom. Draco slowly slid his fingers over the edge of the fabric and onto her bare skin. Ginny gasped as he pushed the jacket up a few inches more and wrapped his hand around the curve of her bare waist. He held on for a moment, then smirked and let go.

"Remember, my darling traitor, that you are mine."

He stood up and brushed off his cloak. Ginny sat up slowly, her eyes coming to rest on a certain egg-sized rock. All she needed was his wand . . .

Draco looked at her and grabbed her hand to pull her to her feet. As he did, Ginny pulled her left hand back, and connected the rock-wielding fist with Draco's eye. He growled in pain and she prepared to hit him again and grab the wand that she knew was in his right side pocket. Draco, however, was still holding her hand. He yanked her tightly into himself, pinning her other arm next to his body.

Ginny felt the tight squeeze of Apparition, and then she was thrown to the floor. Draco grasped for his wand and muttered a healing spell for his eye, which was already turning black and blue. Ginny inched away slowly toward the door, looking for something else to use as a weapon.

"Incarcerous," Draco said lazily. A jet of light hit Ginny and she was bound, hand and foot.

"My little Weasley," Draco walked toward her, deadly calm. Ginny cursed her stupid Gryffindor bravery again as he continued, "You really are fucking insane. Not a full minute after I warned you, you tried to escape again. Do you remember what I said would happen to you?"

Ginny nodded.

"You have displeased me. So you will suffer." He wrenched up her arms violently and pushed her into the wall, holding her arms above her head so that she couldn't move.

"Let's see. I can't bloody well kill you, because that wouldn't really teach you anything, would it? But I could hurt you. I have a large repertoire of spells that will hurt a misbehaving, captive, little blood traitor. Although I have a feeling that the pathetic little braveries you keep exhibiting won't be curbed by a bit of temporary pain. So what else could I do to you that would . . . help?"

Ginny realized that she wasn't breathing. He wouldn't do—that. She gasped aloud and Draco smirked at her.

"Wouldn't I? You seem to be _awfully_ frightened of that . . . and fear is _such_ an excellent motivator," he drawled.

Ginny stared at him, confused when Draco smirked at her bewilderment. He let out a mirthless chuckle as he slowly began to unbutton her jacket. In less than a second, Ginny fully comprehended that he had once again read her mind.

"No!" she cried, "No! You can't! I mean . . . you can't! You won't! Stop!"

Draco ignored her and slipped another button out of its hole, and Ginny's shrieks of protest turned into begging.

"Please, Malfoy. Please don't—" He opened her jacket and slid his hands underneath her shirt so that they rested on her bare stomach. Ginny couldn't help herself. She gasped at the touch. It electrified and numbed her, all at once, and her thoughts flew in and out of coherence.

"Draco." Lucius stood in the doorway, taking in the tableau. "Can you finish with Miss Weasley later? There is a matter of rather extreme urgence."

Draco glanced at Ginny, and his mercurial eyes raked over her entire body. He smirked wickedly at her and turned back to his father.

"Of course, father. I'll come with you now." He let go of Ginny but made no move to untie her. The two Malfoys exited the room, and Ginny slid down the wall, still bound, and sat crumpled in a heap. So far her so-called bravery had only made things worse, terribly worse. She shoved thoughts of what Malfoy might do when he came back aside, and wished she had a little more of the precious Slytherin cunning to her name.

She desperately needed to work on her Occlumency.

* * *

"He wants to make you his heir, Draco. He informed me yesterday, so we are right on target. There were rumors he would select Nott, but that's been put to rest."

Draco smirked and cocked an eyebrow. His father was a brilliant tactician, but also knew exactly how and when to use a sinister potion in a way that was not only untraceable, but also looked accidental.

"He stipulated one condition. I know you will not like it, but I think it is a small price to pay. I've spent the night reviewing the lore behind the spell, and there is no other way around it. The _Sang Primoris_ is a spell dating past the wizards of Egypt. Even if it were not a condition for your succession, such a spell is indefinitely valuable." He handed the ancient texts to Draco, who perused them. Draco's brow furrowed.

"Is this talking about a wedding? Do I have to get married?"

"Nothing in there says that the marriage has to be permanent. It can be to Pansy, for all I care. You can divorce her before the week is out."

"Yes . . . er, father, did you read this bit?" Draco pointed to a set of runes in the corner of the final page.

"What bit?"

"It's something of a footnote, and if I'm reading it correctly, it absolutely can't be Pansy."

Lucius snatched the parchment away from him and studied the chicken scratch-like characters in the bottom corner. The spell clearly required "the blood of the first lost innocence." Lucius suppressed a shudder. Even he did not care for magic this dark.

"Daphne?"

Draco shook his head ruefully.

"Merlin, Draco. You've been sleeping with them both and you've managed to get them to agree with it?" He raised an eyebrow at his son. "I always thought you kept Pansy in order to hold off of Daphne."

"No, not at all. Pansy is my quick fix for when I don't feel like wining and dining Daph."

"Nott—he has a sister, yes?" Lucius watched as Draco shook his head. "Or have you been with her as well?" he asked sardonically.

"No, but Flint has. Really, Father, I can't think of any one of them who actually 'protected' her innocence. It's just so old-fashioned. Even Millicent has been with Crabbe. Or Goyle. Or maybe both. I can't remember."

"Astoria then. She's a bit younger but perfectly old enough—"

"—to have already been in my bed. And Blaise's. And Merlin knows who else. Besides, Daphne would . . ." Draco blanched. "Damn. I completely forgot about Daphne. I left her in bed last night after Gin ran away, and she's probably out of her mind wondering where I am. Excuse me father."

Draco left the room, and Lucius turned back to his desk. The runes were confusing and hard to make out, but the Malfoy library was well stocked. Lucius picked up the papers and made his way through the corridors to the library. The tall shelves of books reached all the way to the fifteen-foot ceiling, but he knew exactly what he wanted. He selected a heavy tome and carried it to a small table. The book opened with a stiff crack from the spine, but within moments, Lucius's questions were answered. Even Lucius shivered with the dark weight of the primal ritual the runes described. Draco needed to marry a pureblooded witch and consummate the marriage, then perform the spell with the blood of her innocence.

Lucius heard a tiny sob and turned slowly. There, in the corner, was a pureblooded witch, her vibrant red hair hiding her quiet tears.

"_Revelium Integer_" he said quietly.

* * *

A/N: As I said at the end of Chapter 1, I've been editing this story to correct spelling and grammar. This is as far as I've gotten, but I think the worst of my mistakes are behind us. I'll continue revising of course, but I'm ready to get back to writing! :)

I do hope you're enjoying the story so far. Please feel free to review these older chapters; whether you give me compliments or critiques, it does my heart a great deal of good to know that people are reading them.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ginny toyed with her food. It had gotten better in the past few days; there were vegetables and meat every now and then, but to Ginny it tasted the same. She ate it to keep up her strength, for when the time was right, she was going to get out of this hell-hole, whether she had to use a wand or her fingernails. She pushed the carrots across her plate and then speared them with a fork.

"Oh, Malfoy, you bloody git, I've got you now," she proclaimed in a high squeaky voice.

"Stop! No, I'll do anything for you, little traitor! Anything at all! Why, I'll turn yellow. Just don't eat me little traitor!" She squeaked and then laughed at herself. She was going a bit mental. She speared another carrot, seriously this time.

"Little blood traitor indeed." She muttered. She hadn't seen Draco since he had decided to teach her a lesson" and undoubtedly scar her forever (his intention, certainly), and she was immensely glad of that. She shivered delicately; a few times a day she felt his hands on her again, or smelled his aftershave. The moments filled her with fear, but her mind kept compulsively returning to them. She couldn't help but wonder when he would reappear.

It had been three days since her escape. Lucius had carried her bodily from the library to this room, which was considerably nicer than the first. There was a rather comfortable bed and a small desk with a chair, and multiple windows. Ginny was sure that these "comforts" still represented the dregs of the lavish home, but she was certainly glad of the bed. The elves had been bringing her clothes in the morning and evening as well as three balanced meals a day, and Ginny's mind felt clearer than ever. Clear enough to know that these changes could not possibly be good.

She walked over to the window, which was low-silled and large, and leaned against the frame, pressing her forehead against the warm glass. She could see Lucius and Narcissa riding over the hills just past the garden.

"What are scheming at, you creepy bastard?" shw whispered.

* * *

--

"My dear, I still don't understand why our son can't marry Daphne. She's a lovely girl, good connections, solid blood lines. There must be a way. Daphne would be perfect."

Narcissa Malfoy prided herself on perfection. It was her doing that the manor was immaculate, the gardens manicured, the table fastidious, and the manners of her household irreproachable. Her husband was powerful, her son handsome and ambitious, and the entire family cunning and ruthless and impeccably dressed. What more could a Black from the House of Slytherin want?

"My darling, I have tried to put this delicately. The Sang Primoris requires that Draco marry the girl who has never been in the bed of a—"

"And Daphne is beyond reproach! I had her checked out thoroughly before I invited her to visit and make our son's acquaintance. I'll have no common whore for a daughter-in-law, you know that Lucius."

"Then I suppose Miss Parkinson…" Lucius muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"I mean, Narcissa," Lucius sighed, "Draco can't even marry a girl who has been in his bed."

"But, but then you mean? Draco?"

"Yes, my dear," Lucius was growing weary from all of this sighing, "Draco has had Daphne in his bed."

Narcissa turned pink.

"He gets _that_ from your side, then." She kicked her horse and trotted ahead of Lucius, who flicked his reins to catch up.

"Darling, the point is that Draco needs a suitable pure-blooded wife who hasn't been with anyone at all, even him. I've no knowledge of young ladies, my dear. This is your area of expertise. Help me find Draco as perfect a wife for him as you are for me."

Narcissa smirked. Draco had clearly inherited _that_ from both sides.

* * *

--

The characteristic smirk graced Draco's features as watched Daphne undress. The damage was done, he calculated, so he might as well enjoy the spoils. She joined him on the bed and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, grazing his skin with her fingernails. He hissed with pleasure.

Miss Greengrass, thinking she would soon be Mrs. Malfoy, threw the shirt on the floor. Draco flipped them over so that he was above her, and watched as she sank into the black and silver satin pillows and smiled lazily at him. He leaned down to kiss her and she met him eagerly. Slowly Draco trailed one hand down her side and Daphne willingly arched underneath him.

Draco closed his hand around her waist and was suddenly consumed by a desire to have Daphne gasp like the little traitor—like Ginny Weasley. He squeezed her waist and Daphne willingly arched up a little more. He kissed her again and ran his other hand down her side, and Daphne sighed.

"You know, my love, I think we ought to do something about these…" she whispered, reaching for Draco's belt, but he pushed her hands away.

"I want to hear you gasp, Daphne. I want you to gasp every time I touch you."

She blinked at his words. He repeated them, his voice dangerously low. He grasped her waist again, and Daphne blinked at him for a second, and then gasped too loudly and too showy. Frustrated, Draco wrapped his hand around her hip, but this time Daphne moaned.

"Draco, love, please let's get on with this. I've been waiting all day now…I want you."

Draco bore his eyes into hers.

"I need to clear my head."

He rolled off the bed and shrugged on his shirt. Daphne, confused, stared from the bed.

"But I thought…"

"You thought wrong, Daphne. This is all wrong. In fact, go home. I'll call you when I want you."

Daphne began to dress, seething with a cocktail of anger, hurt, and confusion. She would not be Draco's call girl. Whatever was going on with him tonight, and for the last few nights, she didn't like it. Perhaps it was time to pay a call to Narcissa. She'd have to be careful, though, and not mention the specific details…like the fact she and Draco were sleeping together. That would not go over well.

Fully dressed, Daphne gave Draco a peck on the cheek and apparated out of the room.

Draco walked out onto his balcony and leaned on the rail. It had to be the pressure, he mused. It wasn't so much his interactions with the Weasley traitor as how they played in to the larger scheme of things; the end game. With the way everything was working out, Draco new it wouldn't be long until years of hard work produced the ultimate pay-off. Of course, this marriage business was a problem, but by no means would it ruin their plans—no, it wouldn't even put them off schedule.

The cool summer air did its magic, and Draco's mind released his stress, his plans, his hopes, and without realizing it, the sound of Ginny Weasley's gasp. He stood up slowly and turned back to his bedroom. He was in the mood for Pansy.

* * *

--

"Draco, I've arranged for two young ladies to join us this evening for dinner. Please make sure that you are properly attired—and don't bring Daphne, dear."

Lucius smiled across the breakfast table at his wife. Narcissa was a quick worker. Draco, on the other hand, scowled.

"Honestly, Mother. I'm perfectly capable of choosing my own wife."

"Well, Draco, if you were a little less capable of other things…"

"Mother, please."

"Now, Draco, I only mean if you showed a little more control, why…"

"Bloody hell, Father, she can't be serious."

"Yes, Draco, your mother and I both are determined to find you an acceptable wife."

"Of course! There are a great many attributes required. She must be beautiful, intelligent, well-bred, perfectly mannered, share some interests, be of a good age, and meet the qualifications of that spell."

"By qualifications do you mean to tell me that I can't take them both upstairs and shag them senseless after dessert?" Draco drawled, raising a mischievous eyebrow.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! I will not stand such vulgar talk at my breakfast table!"

Draco smirked. "I'm sorry, mother. Shan't happen again."

Narcissa nodded her forgiveness and silence reigned for a few moments until Lucius cut in,

"My dear, who are these young ladies?" Narcissa beamed.

"Well, they both come from excellent pure-blooded lineage, and they share your love of Quidditch, Draco. They both played chaser on their house team."

"Oh? And which team was that?"

"Hufflepuff."

Draco choked on his orange juice, and even Lucius nearly sloshed his tea all over his toast.

"You can't be serious. You are really trying to set me up with a pair of bloody chasers from fucking Hufflepuff! Honestly, what kind of mother—"

"Language at the table, Draco!" chided Narcissa, "and you didn't exactly make it easy for me. Miss Applebee and Miss Macavoy are lovely young women with pristine reputations. They are both suitable."

"Mother, I can assure you that Tamsin Applebee and Heidi Macavoy are not suitable. Have you _seen_ them? I'd rather marry a cow. There is a reason for that 'pristine' reputation. Hermione Granger was prettier, and she was a mudblood."

Lucius's brow darkened and Narcissa angrily poured herself another cup of tea. Draco enjoyed the silence. At this rate he'd call Pans again within hours, and he hated to make her that happy.

Lucius cleared his throat. "There is another solution. Draco, we've both examined the runes and there is no need to remain married to this woman, whoever she is. You could end the marriage in a week, and marry whoever you want, Daphne included."

"Fine, but neither Applebee nor Macavoy would agree to that. Their families would cry foul if I tried to divorce them so quickly and it would be nasty publicity if I ended it by ending the bride." Narcissa looked horrified at her son.

"Yes, clearly," Lucius cut in before his wife could chastise Draco for even thinking about killing a perfectly innocent girl, "clearly we need a pure blooded woman who still has her innocence who has no family or friends around."

"You can't mean…"

"Yes, Draco. Exactly." It was Lucius' turn to smirk.

* * *

--

Ginny was pacing in her room. It was day four in the new room now and she hadn't seen a living soul but the elves, who were now terrified of her and popped in and out so fast that the trays teetered dangerous on the desk. "One, two, three, four, turn!" Ginny commanded herself. George had told her stories of prisoners who had wasted away from lack of movement, so Ginny decided to do her own odd form of calisthenics as often as she could.

The door suddenly swung open and caught her in the forehead.

"Damn," she cursed, rubbing her head, and stepped back to see the Malfoy she least expected.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to start by taming that plebian tongue, hm?"

Narcissa Malfoy drew her wand and bound Ginny's hands.

"I've heard from my son about your penchant for running away. We'll see that doesn't happen again." She used her wand again to levitate Ginny just off the ground and then, taking her elbow, marched her through the corridors of Malfoy Manor. Ginny was mystified. Not only were the Malfoy's a fearsome bunch, but they were also clearly a bit nutty.

Down one floor and through a maze of oak paneled halls, Narcissa pulled open a heavy wooden door and pushed Ginny inside. Removing the incantations, Narcissa directed Ginny through the room. It was the most fabulous bedroom that Ginny had ever seen. The furnishings were a delicate white and silver, and the walls were hung with a pale green print from floor to fifteen foot ceiling. Ginny was practically frog marched by the older woman into an attached bathroom, where she was faced with a pretty bathroom that matched the bedroom. Narcissa gestured to the bath.

"Start by cleaning up. I'll send a house elf up to assist you shortly, and a stylist will be here in an hour to begin. Any shenanigans and I'll have the footman come up and watch you bathe. Is that clear?"

Still puzzled, Ginny nodded. Narcissa left her alone and Ginny wonderingly. She sank down at the edge of the sunken tub and turned the taps on. Within seconds, a perfect bubble bath was before her, and the whole room smelled of roses. Ginny slipped out of her dirty clothes and sank into the warm water. Leisurely, she scrubbed off nearly ten days of grime and then sank under to wash her hair. When she arose, she found herself eye to eye with a little houself, and both of them jumped.

"Hel—hello miss. I is…I is Mimsy. Please do not-not jump on us, miss. We's is ascared of the thumpings and bumpings." Ginny swallowed. She hadn't considered the fate of the elves, and since it probably informed a pissed Draco Malfoy of her disappearance, she wondered if it was still living.

"No, no, I won't do any such thing. Don't be afraid."

The elf relaxed visibly and continued,

"If miss is finished, I help miss dress."

Dress? Ginny wondered. Something bad was happening. Narcissa wanted her to see a stylist. She hoped that this only meant she was going to see Voldemort again, then shivered. Perhaps they were going to give her to the Death Eaters as a plaything after all, and this was their way of preparing her. Panic seized her momentarily, and she gripped the most weapon like object she could find—a wooden hairbrush.

She toweled off without realizing it, and mechanically dressed in the beautiful green evening gown the elf presented her with. Maybe once she was at Voldemort's lair again she could find the other captive. Or captives. That was encouraging. Some of the Death Eaters were particularly dumb. Crabbe and Goyle would be easily parted from their wands, she was certain. Maybe, just maybe…

"Miss Weasley, this is Jacques, my personal stylist. He will make sure that you are prepared for tonight. Please make sure that you are on your best behavior. I understand that not everything will be pleasant, but if you are not civil I will place the Imperius curse upon you. Is that clear?"

Ginny didn't really hear everything that Narcissa said to her, for Draco was standing directly behind her, his eyes raking over her satin-encased body, taking in every inch of the low neckline and the deep green against the flaming red hair. He smirked evilly, and Ginny's blood ran cold.

"Now, Mother, really. Don't you think that I should be the one to _imperio_ my fiancé?"

--

A/N: Whew, that one was hard to write. Not sure why, but **let me know how I did.** I LOVE my reviewers! You all did such a nice job of making me happy that even though it was hard, I did it. So I'll dedicate this chap to all of you. YAY! Let's hit 40, shall we? Did somebody say 45? Oh my!

ANNNNND not many of you told me if you think I should continue with Draco as he is or make him a little nicer. The general consensus was to continue, but I'm still curious as to what you all think. Maybe if no one tells me otherwise, **I'l****l make him get really sweet the moment they get married, and he'll turn from his wicked ways, make sweet love to Ginny, have a bunch of cute constellation-monikered kids with strawberry blonde hair, and make pancakes for Ginny every morning.** (HINT: DON'T MAKE ME WRITE THAT.)

--aerie.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_Now, Mother, really. Don't you think that I should be the one to imperio my fiancé?"_

Ginny's heart stopped cold. She sat paralyzed in her chair as the Jacques the stylist began to work his magic on her red tresses. The yank of the brush through her tangles jolted her back to the present, but her mind was still racing.

"I…I…I…you…"

Draco raised a smug eyebrow at her bewilderment.

"You mean the pretty little blood traitor hasn't been told her fate?" he teased. Ginny opened her mouth and shut it just as quickly.

"You are to marry Draco, Miss Weasley." Narcissa cut in imperiously. Her son cocked an eyebrow at Ginny.

"But…I…I don't understand. Why me?"

"That's not important," Narcissa said, "Stop stuttering. Highly unbecoming. You'll have to learn to speak and act with poise. I'll be back shortly to ensure that you are prepared for tonight. Do try to control yourself."

She turned imperiously and left the room. Ginny fervently hoped that Draco would follow her, but he merely stepped aside at the doorway and seated himself on a settee in front of a large window. The light played with his white blond hair, filtering though the tousled strands and looking rather like a halo. Ginny couldn't help but notice the irony.

"What are you looking at?" Ginny demanded, observing the young man as he lounged back with his arms spread, as if he owned not just the settee, but also the entire room. The initial shock of her current situation was starting to dissipate, and Ginny wanted answers.

"You." Malfoy's voice and eyes were laden with meanings that Ginny chose to ignore.

"You must know that I'm not about to marry you willingly," she scowled.

"Hardly an obstacle."

"So you would force me?"

"There are ways."

Ginny considered this and decided not to press the issue. "Well, if we do marry, you've no guarantee that I will be an obedient wife."

Draco smiled. "Your naïve courage is hardly commendable, my little one. You forget that I never finished teaching you that lesson the other day." His smiled faded as he continued, "and the lesson after that. And the one after that, and the fourth, and the fifth, and the tenth, and hundredth."

Ginny tried to ignore his threats, but deep down knew he was right. If they were married under Voldemort's regime, he would have the kind of complete control he was describing.

Draco stood and walked to her, placing a hand under her chin and lifting it forcefully so that her eyes met his. Jacques pulled her hair back to keep Draco from ruining his work and tears prickled her eyes. Draco's face was passive, but his gray eyes shone fiercely into her own. His voice was low and deadly.

"I'll teach you a thousand lessons, Ginevra Weasley. Until not only your word and deed bend to my will, but your every expression, your every stray thought, is as I want it. You will be _mine_."

Ginny tried to muster up a defiant look and shook her head out of his grasp, ignoring the French cursings of the stylist. Glaring at Malfoy as ferociously as possible, she whispered,

"I will never be yours, Draco Malfoy. I'd rather die."

Draco seized her again and brought his face inches from her own, until Ginny's eyes were matched with cold storms of icy gray. For a moment, Ginny thought he would snap her neck immediately, but he breathed in and hissed in a perfectly calm voice,

"Well, my sweet little traitor, when I'm through with you, I'm sure that can be arranged."

He dropped her chin and stormed out of the room, and a few tears trailed down across Ginny's cheeks, even though her hair no longer hurt.

--

"But Lucius, an announcement in The Prophet is only appropriate, given our social standing. Draco should have a large wedding. I hardly see the reasons for secrecy."

"My darling, no one in the wizarding world but the Dark Lord's closest knows that we have the Weasley girl. She might be quite alone, but there are a few who still pledge their loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix, and you can be sure they're seeking her out. I want this to go smoothly. The plan has to work.

"And the plan gives us all the more reason to make the wedding public. You've been trying to find those last few resisters for months now. Announce that the Weasley girl is here and they'll come to you—and our plans will come into fruition all the more quickly."

"Narcissa, you are a brilliantly evil witch. Those fools will be so panicked about getting their princess back before she marries the enemy that they'll never know what hit them."

Narcissa smiled graciously. Those who think Draco inherited all of his cunning from his father were sorely mistaken.

"There is, however, another problem with a public announcement. If Draco does decide to end the marriage shortly afterward it will not please them. They will see the marriage as a union between the feuding sides of this battle, and thus as something of a victory. We have carefully built his reputation among them for years. They see him as a misunderstood young man who is not capable of evil despite his birth. You remember what he did during his last years at Hogwarts and how carefully we leaked his so-called failures to others—and why it is publicly known that he has not taken the Mark. Still, his reputation is a fragile thing and if this marriage is announced, he must follow through with it for the duration of our scheme."

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Yes, you are right. But in that case, does it not serve him better to marry Miss Weasley and maintain the marriage? It will only better his position."

Lucius looked at his wife gravely. "I do think this is an excellent addition to our plan. My only concern is convincing Draco of that, which thankfully can wait until after tonight."

--

Ginny stared at herself in the mirror. Narcissa's hairdresser was a genius, though she had a growing suspicion that the man was under an imperious curse. An elf had helped her into the most beautiful (albeit ridiculous) shoes she had ever seen, and the long green gown shimmered in the dying sunlight. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a mass of curls, and she wore no jewelry.

Part of Ginny wanted to squeal with delight. She had never had her hair styled professionally or worn such a beautiful gown. However, another part of her wanted to die. She had sat most of the afternoon with Draco's words echoing in her mind, and even though she was determined to be strong, she quailed with fear at the thought of what might be to come. She had no idea why she was dressed like this.

Narcissa entered the room. She was also dressed very formally in a gown of deep purple, and next to her Ginny's lack of jewelry was glaringly obvious.

"Well, turn around Miss Weasley. Let me see you."

Slowly, Ginny turned around. She felt like cattle about to be auctioned and half expected Narcissa to check her teeth.

"I trust you are no longer stuttering?"

"No, madam."

"Well, you'll do. Come, sit." Narcissa gestured at a small table where tea was laid out. She poured and handed a cup to Ginny, who held it tentatively.

"Drink. There is nothing in it but tea. I enjoy my tea before I attend functions, and if I wanted to kill you I'd rather do it neatly." Ginny swallowed and waited until Narcissa sipped her own cup before she did the same. The hot beverage tasted wonderful, and Ginny realized that she hadn't had anything to drink since that morning.

"Now, Miss Weasley, there is a certain order of ceremony at the palace of the Dark Lord." Ginny wondered why they referred to that cave as a palace.

"Mrs. Malfoy, what will we be doing at the palace?"

"Asking for official permission for your engagement, of course."

"Oh."

"You will enter with Draco. Hold your head up but keep your eyes down and do not look directly at the Dark Lord. Draco will do the talking; you only need to say 'yes' when asked for your part. Always address the Dark Lord respectfully, and by all means act as civil and gracious. Remember, girl, that I am not above using a few choice curses to ensure that you do not embarrass me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, madam." Ginny rather felt like screaming the opposite, but Mrs. Malfoy's mention of tidy murders still hung in her mind.

"Good. Do you have any questions?"

"If I say no—" Ginny began tentatively, but Narcissa cut her off.

"If you say no to the Dark Lord every single death eater in that room will be happy to teach you what happens when you displease them, and you will find no protection from the House of Malfoy. Is that clear?"

Ginny nodded. Narcissa informed her that Draco would come and get her in a quarter of an hour and left Ginny alone again. She spent the entire fifteen minutes thinking of a way to escape. What she wouldn't give for some of Hermione's ingenuity right now!

All too soon, Draco arrived. He looked regal in rich robes of black with silver trim. His hair was perfectly in place for once, and his perfect features gleamed against the black.

He held out a gloved hand and Ginny accepted it with a faint smile, remembering all too well the last time Draco had held out a hand and she had smashed his face in. Obviously, Draco remembered too, for he pulled her close to his chest right away. Bending his head to her ear, he whispered,

"_Anything_ out of you that I don't like and you will be sorry. Don't think that changes just because we'll be in public."

Ginny opened her mouth to retort but Draco silenced her with a gloved hand and whisked her away.

--

"My Lord, Master Draco Malfoy and Miss Ginevra Weasley." Wormtail tried to sound pompous but came off sniveling. Draco pulled Ginny into the high ceilinged throne room, forcing her down through throngs of Death Eaters. Ginny saw Pansy Parkinson glowering at her from the arm of either Crabbe or Goyle and a very pretty blonde looking furious. In fact, if looks could kill, every single young lady in the room would have murdered her by now. Apparently they all knew why she was there. Ginny wondered how long this awful plan had been in the works.

Draco stopped them just short of the dais and Ginny found herself face to face with a very decrepit Voldemort. It had been exactly a week since she had last seen him, and she wondered if it was only her imagination that he looked worse than ever.

"My Lord, I present to you Miss Ginevra Weasley, a witch descended from the pure blood of the Houses of Black, Yaxley, and Prewitt. I request your permission and favor in my marriage to Miss Weasley." Draco's voice was stiff and formal. Ginny shuddered at her own bloodline and of the evil that had come from it. Guess I am a blood traitor, she realized.

"Young master Draco…I am pleased that you have found a bride with such an honorable lineage. I trust that she meets my other requirements?"

Ginny started as Draco replied affirmatively. What 'other requirements?' Whatever they were, she suspected it was not a good thing.

"Miss Weasley, do you also ask for my consent?"

Draco squeezed her hand and she realized he was holding it rather tightly.

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort smiled beatifically, a look that made him look like a pregnant toad.

"Then, my children, it is with my full assent that I grant you permission to wed. Let the festivities begin!"

Ginny was wondering what the hell Voldemort meant by festivities when Draco pulled her toward him. He placed a hand on her neck, just under her ear, and lifted her face toward his.

"Happy engagement, little one." He said, and then slowly closed the distance between them and kissed her gently. Ginny froze. Her blood ran cold, then hot. She was angry that he would do this so publicly without warning, but shocked that his kiss could be so gentle. She couldn't help herself—she gasped into his mouth, and when Draco ended the kiss to the cheering of the assembled crowd, he was smirking.

"We'll have to work on that a bit." He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. "I think my fiancé should kiss me back, don't you?"

--

An hour later, Ginny was exhausted. The Death Eater's idea of festivities involved dancing, carousing, and horrible jokes about muggles that Ginny not bring herself to laugh at, despite glares from Mrs. Malfoy who obviously thought her future daughter-in-law was being unsociable. A tap on the shoulder led Ginny to turn away from the coven of harpies ranting about muggle stupidity.

"Miss Weasley, might I have a dance?"

It was Goyle, who looked rather drunk. Draco was no where to be found and Ginny thought about refusing—until she saw not one, but two wands sticking out of Goyle's pocket, and one of them looked terribly familiar. Bursting with glee, Ginny gave Goyle such a delighted answer that he looked more than a little bashful as he led her out onto the floor.

"So, Mr. Goyle, what have you been up to since you left Hogwarts?"

"Well, er, I, er, I've been doing, er, raids and the like for er, the Dark Lord." Ginny found herself amused and wondered what Narcissa would say about all of the stuttering.

"I see. Is there a Mrs. Goyle here tonight?"

"Er, well, yeah, I mean, er, my mum's right over there." Ginny giggled at the stupid oaf.

"And do you enjoy her company?" Goyle looked a little uncomfortable.

"Well, er, yes, a bit, but, er, I like to dance with, er, younger ladies. She doesn't always, er, understand." Ginny swallowed her laugh. This was too easy.

As the dance ended, she smoothly reached into Goyle's pocket and slipped out both wands. One was undoubtedly hers. Exploding with happiness, Ginny had to keep herself from spilling purple sparks all over Goyle and instead gushed with delight over the dance. A very pink Goyle walked in a dazed stupor off the dance floor, and Ginny slipped the wands discreetly into the curls on her head.

"Now," she whispered to herself, "time to find the ladies room."

She asked several people where she could find the toilet in order to ensure that Draco would overhear. She walked off in that general direction and found herself quite alone in the musty old halls of the palace. The stones were chipped and cracking, and a few of the wooden doors were molded through. Compared to the bright cleanliness of the Malfoy's home, this place was a wreck.

Ginny heard the noise of someone walking along the corridor to her left and cast a disillusionment charm on herself. She practically hugged her wand with the joy of being able to do magic again. Slipping quietly into the hall, she noticed a very sullen looking soldier standing next to a stone staircase that led down a dark stairwell. Carefully maneuvering past the guard, Ginny crept down the stairs. The rancid smell that met her nose assured her that she was in the right place. Without a doubt, these were the Death Eater dungeons.

Slowly, she made her way through the dark passageways, hesitant to use her wand to light the way and wary of other guards lurking in the dark. Some of the cells were like rooms with a small windowed door leading in. These were all empty. Further into the dungeons, the cells looked more like cages and allowed the prisoners no privacy. These were also empty. Ginny knew that the Death Eaters kept few prisoners alive and for a moment wondered if the dungeon was empty. After all, she had been held at the Malfoy's home, not here. There was a good chance that any other captives were in the same position.

Ginny was ready to turn back and sneak into the party when she remembered the guard. If there were no prisoners, why not let the man attend the party? There had to be someone down here. Quietly, Ginny crept further into the dank darkness. She strained her ears but only heard the dripping of water and a faint scurrying of rats.

"Further in, I guess," she whispered to herself, and a moment later heard a quiet moan from her right. Ginny's heart pounded wildly in her chest. With two wands, she and this other person could probably sneak out of here. It would be easy to stun the guard and then—perhaps France again? But first, she had to release the captive.

"Lumos!" she whispered, tentatively pulling out her wand.

"Imperio!" a jet of light shot Ginny in the back, and everything fell away.

The voice was Draco's. Ginny felt her mind slowly recede as his invaded. As though in a dream, she walked over to him and accepted his arm.

"Now, what is a pretty, young, pure-blooded witch doing in such an awful place?" He queried, his voice dangerously pleasant. "Tell me you were only lost."

"Yes, my lord, I was lost." Ginny heard herself speak and wished she could roll her eyes sarcastically at the 'my lord' bit.

Draco held her arm tightly the entire trip back upstairs and through the corridors to the hall. Ginny tried to fight him, but it was a losing battle. Draco was obviously practiced in the art of the imperious curse, and she had never been under it before. Draco stopped her just outside of the Dark Lord's throne room.

"I'm not removing this until we get home, little sneak. You've proven that I can't trust you—I can't even trust your fear of the consequences. Your foolish Gryffindor bravery has cost you your freedom more deeply than ever. You are mine."

Suddenly, he pulled her close and kissed her again. Ginny's unwilling mouth opened at his sudden assault and she found herself kissing him back, her arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly.

A small part of Ginny's mind screamed at her to make him stop taking advantage of her in this state. Another part was thoroughly enjoying the sweetness of Draco's mouth. But most of Ginny's mind was completely oblivious and lost in happy thought, for she had managed to cast the lumos charm just before Draco had cursed her, and Ginny had gotten a glimpse of the figure lying on the ground of the cold cell.

The figure was a girl. A girl with a mass of frizzy brown hair.

--

**A/N:** Soooo most of you didn't really like my brilliant idea to have Draco fall madly in love with Ginny and spend all of his time in the kitchen making heart-shaped pancakes and caring for pink-haired tots. So sad. I was really looking forward to writing that…

Kidding! In the words of one reviewer, that would be SICK. In my mind, if Draco has an absurd desire for heart-shaped pancakes he commands a house-elf to make them and then snogs Ginny between bites. (Which I think I'll have to incorporate into a future story, eh? Maybe a one-shot? I don't know. Right now this is my baby.)

AND…this chapter is early! I got a record number of reviews for chapter six, my darlings, and this chapter practically flew out! **So whether you want to tell me you love it or if you want to give me details/requests/concerns/questions, do it!** (I prefer the second option, so if you say you love it, at least give me a reason why so I can continue to write what you love. It's not that hard.)

Or if you don't do that, I could have Draco decide that the whole secret evil plan thing is a load of crock and he and Ginny could run away to, I don't know, Hollywood, and live among the muggles. Draco could become a movie star and Ginny a producer, and heck, they could completely give up magic and learn to use a microwave. It's a thought.

**In other words, review and tell me what you **_**do**_** like!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

SMASH! Draco dodged the picture frame and it crashed into the marble mantelpiece, shattering.

"I can't believe you, Draco! How dare you! How dare you ask for the hand of that nasty little bitch! You said that you loved me, Draco. ME!"

"I do as I please, Daphne."

"And your promises to me, they mean nothing? Your profession of love? My fucking virginity, Draco? My _virginity_?" Angry tears streaked Daphne's heavy make up.

"Your virginity was nice. But you don't fit into my future." He dodged a heavy spell book as Daphne cried,

"Nice? It was nice? My innocence, my honor, were—nice?"

"Daphne, if you don't stop throwing my things about I'm going to make you leave. Be a good girl and get into bed."

"You have got to be kidding me. After that stunt tonight—getting engaged to a blood traitor and parading it in front of everyone I know—you want me to get in bed with you?"

"Why do you think I summoned you?" Draco poured himself a glass of brandy.

"Perhaps to apologize for humiliating me? For lying to me? For all your broken promises? Stop acting like this is blasé, or par for the course. Merlin, Draco, show some…show some emotion!" The anger faded from her eyes and was replaced by hurt. "I loved you. That has to count for something."

"Either get into bed and show me how much or go home." Draco downed the glass and began to pour another. Daphne stood wide-eyed in the middle of the room, a glass vase hanging limply in her arms. Silent tears drifted in her eyes. She set down the vase and picked up her wand.

"If you make me leave you right now, Draco, like this, I will never come back. Ever."

Draco stared at her in silence for a moment, the light blue crystal gaze desperately trying to get past the steel gray. After a long moment, she lifted her wand and disappeared.

"You'll be back in a week, princess."

He nonchalantly waved a charm that set the room back to rights and poured himself a third. That had gone surprisingly well. Draco sighed and toyed with the idea of calling Pansy, but decided against it. He'd had enough trouble with women for one night.

--

Ginny woke to sunshine pouring through the curtains in her new room. A house elf was drawing them open, and when Ginny sat up the creature was at her side in a moment.

"I'll take misses' breakfast order now, and then be back to help miss dress."

Ginny stared in shock at the creature.

"Er, give me a minute." It bowed and backed away.

Ginny looked at her hands, bending each finger wonderingly. She searched her mind for any signs of control, but Draco had released her from the _Imperio_ completely. Sighing, she flopped back onto the pillow. Malfoy had complete control of her last night, and she finally understood why the imperious curse was so unforgivable. She had danced with him, conversed with others, even laughed at anti-muggle jokes. She grimaced.

She had kissed him too, a memory that, shockingly, didn't make her flinch. It had been pleasant. She vaguely remembered that she liked it. Shivering, she wondered if Malfoy could control even those feelings to an extent. That was deeply frightening.

"Ahem."

Ginny sat up to see a large pair of eyes staring at her.

"Oh, yes. Er, I'll have, er, what do you have?"

"Anything, miss," said the elf politely, if a bit patronizingly.

"Oh. I'll have, er, pancakes. With strawberries. Please."

"Very good miss."

The little creature vanished with a pop and Ginny stepped out of bed. She couldn't remember going to bed, or even changing into the luxurious silk pajamas she had on. She froze—had Draco? That was impossible. He would have had to obliviate her, and she didn't feel confused enough for that. Her hand went to her hair, which fell around her shoulders in loose, messy curls. Both wands were gone.

She strode over to the closet to see what the elf meant by 'dress' later and spent several moments gaping at the closet which was bigger than her room at The Burrow. It was filled with the most expensive clothes Ginny had seen in her life. She gingerly reached out to touch the sleeve of a gauzy top, captured for a moment by its beauty. Then she dropped it just as quickly. All of this extravagance was paid for with blood. She slammed the door and stomped back toward the bed.

The elf popped back and laid breakfast on the small circular table near the window where she had shared tea with Narcissa. The tray was loaded with eggs, sausage, toast, fruit, porridge, and strawberry pancakes. Suddenly hungry, Ginny hastily took the matching silk dressing gown the elf handed her and sat down to eat.

"Mistress. Malfoy, miss." The elf trotted over to the door to open it.

"No! I'm not—" Ginny stood to stop him, only succeeding in knocking her coffee into her lap just as the door opened.

"Well. I see table decorum is not among your strong suits."

Narcissa strode into the room and sat opposite her. Perfectly coiffed and dressed and pouring a perfect cup of tea, Narcissa made Ginny feel rather small. She still had bedhead, for one. Hesitantly, she poured herself another cup of coffee and breathed with relief when she didn't spill again. She felt a strange need to be poised around Narcissa Malfoy and she wondered where it came from.

"I've scheduled the day to build your wardrobe."

"But, er, the closet had, er, I don't…"

"Cease this stuttering immediately. Shut your mouth and only open it when you can give me a coherent sentence." To her own surprise, Ginny obeyed.

"There are so many lovely clothes in my closet, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Ah, yes. Those are temporary, until your things can be prepared. They're off the rack—not fitting for your station."

"I'm afraid I don't understand. They seem perfectly, er, acceptable."

"I understand that in your previous life you probably enjoyed any new clothing, even something used by a relative." Narcissa sneered disdainfully. "However, in a short time you will be a Malfoy. We don't purchase clothes off the rack, my dear. We have them made."

"Even the men?"

"Especially the men. Can you imagine formal attire fitted to the shoulders of a sewing dummy? Ridiculous." She laughed. Ginny stared at her uncomfortably. And she had thought that the cost of the clothes in the closet was obscene.

"Well, where do we go? To Madame Malkin's?" Narcissa laughed again.

"For a young lady's wardrobe? Hardly! We're off to France, Miss Weasley. My dressmaker, Madame Tallieur, is the best in the world."

--

"Come in, Draco."

The younger Malfoy entered the elder's study and sat down across from his father, who tossed him a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"So have we done it?" Draco's voice was disinterested, but his eyes betrayed his eagerness to his father, who smiled smugly at his son.

"First, turn to page eight."

There, front and center, was a large portrait of Draco Malfoy, his arm around Ginny Weasley. Draco's eyes darkened.

"What is this?"

"Your engagement announcement."

"I can read that. Why is it in here? I thought we were keeping this quiet. I had to bloody Imperio the girl in order for mother to get this picture. I was planning on being able to end this at my leisure, Father. Unless I have a very backward idea on your plans for my future, I'm not going to be able to do that now."

"No. You and Miss Weasley need to maintain the appearance of a happy marriage. The public is already in love with the idea."

"Are they?" Draco asked dryly, flipping the paper to the front cover and read aloud,

"Ministry stable thanks to generosity of Draco Malfoy" He grinned slowly.

"So we _do_ have them."

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes. _The Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ and the others in that conglomerate were easy. A little threatening and a lot of money went a long way, but we now control every word in every publication. _The Quibbler_ was a little harder, but that fool couldn't stand to see his daughter undergo the Cruciatus. I've marked her and if he ever goes against us, well…" Lucius drifted off suggestively as Draco, half listening, scanned the paper.

"Excellent. But my little bride—I can't have her disappeared very well now, can I?"

"I'm afraid not. Everything depends on you, Draco. Don't let your distaste of the Weasley girl ruin years of careful work."

Draco cocked an eyebrow.

"Actually, Father, she tastes quite nice." He smirked.

It was Lucius' turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Very well. Just don't get…carried away…before the spell can be carried out."

"I won't disappoint you."

--

"I need a complete fall wardrobe for Miss Weasley. She is marrying my son and needs to be outfitted accordingly."

"Ahh, yes Madame. I have seen this in Le Prophète this very morning. Madamoiselle Weasley, would you please slip out of your clothings so I can take your measurements?"

Ginny wondered exactly how much clothing she was supposed to take off. Narcissa wasn't moving, and Ginny didn't feel like getting naked in front of the incredibly proper woman. Narcissa looked pointedly at Ginny and she slowly unbuttoned her shirt and unzipped and stepped out of her skirt. To her chagrin, she'd discovered earlier that the closet was also completely stocked with the fanciest undergarments that Ginny had seen in her life. Right now she was standing in only a lacy black bra with matching underwear.

"Shoes off, cher, and onto the stand."

Ginny did as she was told and a charmed measuring tape began to fly around her, taking measurements that Ginny didn't know she had.

"Madame Tailleur, Miss Weasley is also in need of a wedding dress and trousseau."

Madame Tailleur gave a little chuckle.

"That can be arranged."

"I would like your mother to create the dress."

Madame Tailleur looked thoughtful and made a little clucking noise with her tongue. She was not a young woman, and Ginny figured that her mother must be ancient. The lady before her had more than a few gray hairs and her brow was furrowed with the wrinkles of examining seams day in and day out.

"Yes, I think my mother is up to this. She grows old, Madame, but her fingers are sharp even when her mind wanders."

"Indeed? How does it wander?" The dressmaker waved dismissively.

"You know this is one of the oldest wizarding towns in France, yet she insists on living, how do you say it, on the edge? With her talents she would be respected by all, but she lives alone. However, I can assure Madame that her work is still most excellent in all France. All the world."

"I see. Well, she has made the wedding gowns of every important witch over the past fifty years. She will make Miss Weasley's."

"When is the wedding, Madame?"

Ginny looked up. Of course the offending event had a date, she realized.

"The ceremony will occur a month from Sunday."

Ginny blanched. Without a wand or access to floo, she wouldn't have much time to execute another escape plan.

"Ah, then perhaps you can return in a fortnight for the fitting of the dress?"

"One week."

"Very well, Madame. I shall see that my mother is ready."

Madame and Narcissa sat for what felt like hours with a large sketchbook and a pad of paper. Ginny stood in her underwear in the center of the room. She felt rather cold and definitely humiliated. She hunched her shoulders in, hugged her arms to herself, and watched as the two women cooed over the designs in the book, ignoring her completely.

She wondered if she could flat-out run. The front door of the Manor had opened for her that first day, and she hadn't sensed any wards about her own room. The grounds were large, and if she took off in the middle of the night, it was likely she wouldn't be seen. Of course, she would also have no idea where she was and the Malfoy's probably had all kinds of scary wards on the grounds and other protective spells. Ginny chewed on her lip. She was definitely growing desperate.

"Miss Weasley, stop that at once!"

Ginny jumped and cringed.

"Gracious, girl. Stop eating your lip and get dressed. And stand straight! You look like an gutter urchin standing like that with such an expression."

Ginny took back her clothes and put them on as Narcissa arranged the delivery for the following day. Madame Tallieur was all bows and smiles, but her staff looked harried. Ginny guessed they'd be putting in a long night.

Narcissa guided Ginny over to the fireplace.

"Now, Miss Weasley, to do something about your bourgeois table etiquette."

--

Hours later, Ginny returned to her room to find that her private little table was set for dinner. Exhausted from Narcissa's drilling about forks and goblets and appropriate conversation, Ginny felt like flipping the table on its head and crawling into bed, but the aroma of steak changed her mind.

"To hell with the rules," she muttered in her haughtiest voice as she purposely speared the meat with her salad fork, "I shall cut thee as I please." She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and turned to her right. "Yes, Crabbe, how are your bastard sons doing these days? I hear one is a squib, though I'm not at all surprised. And Parkinson, how much are you charging for a night these days, what with all the competition?" Ginny giggled at herself. "And Narcissa, how is your arrogant prick of a son? When I last saw him he was acting like he fucking ruled the world. Is he the spawn of Satan or is that just the result of your perfect breeding?

"Definitely the latter."

Ginny jumped. The arrogant prick himself walked over from her doorway and sat opposite her, stretching out his legs so that they touched her own. Ginny scooted back rather ungracefully and glowered at him.

"So, my little comedienne, have you enjoyed your time with my mother?"

He gave her a sardonic smile and poured himself a glass of wine.

"Hardly. I have a headache from her so-called rules and before that I stood in my—I was at the dressmaker's forever."

Draco smirked wickedly.

"Stood in your whats, little Weasley?"

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. He smiled like a smug cat toying with a bird.

"Answer me, little traitor. Stood in your…"

"That doesn't matter."

"Ah. And if I demand to see what you were standing in, would that matter?"

Ginny turned pink with embarrassment, and anger quickly followed.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Why can't I enjoy a peaceful dinner without being tortured by an arrogant, self-serving, son of a –"

Draco reached across the table and slid his hand over her mouth, calm fury pooling in his eyes.

"Don't you dare."

He stood, keeping his hand on her mouth, and stepped next to her. Ginny grabbed her steak knife.

"Drop it. Remember what I said about obedience? Or do I need to teach you that lesson again? Come to think of it, I never really finished the first time, did I?"

With his free hand he wrenched her arm back and twisted it, hard. Tears formed in Ginny's eyes as the knife slipped out of her grasp. She bit down on Draco's hand.

"Damn it, witch! Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?"

Ginny stood quickly and glared sullenly up at him. She wished she had another rock.

"I don't know. Maybe for the same reason that you have to act like a fucking bastard."

He growled and pushed her back so that she was against the bed, grabbing her head with one hand and pulling it close so that she could hear him whisper,

"You have no idea what I could do to you, do you Ginny Weasley? Shall I give you a taste?"

His breath was hot in her ear and Ginny could smell the expensive cologne he wore. She could feel her anger evaporating rapidly as a chill of fear took its place. Draco pushed her back and she fell onto the bed, but instead of climbing on top of her, he sat beside her, leaning back casually with his head propped up on his elbow.

"Do you remember your lesson in the woods, little one?" His voice was laced with heavy saccharine. "How about we play a little game?"

He ran a finger down her cheek, along the curve of her jaw line and down her neck, over her collar and down the row of pearly buttons, stopping at her waist. Ginny shivered.

"I ask you a question, you answer. Easy enough. Answer wrongly, and I undo a button."

He flicked open the lowest button of Ginny's shirt and ran his thumb over the soft creamy skin at her waist. Ginny gasped at the small invasion, and Draco smirked.

"Question one. Who do you obey?"

Ginny cringed and desperately wanted to smack him. Either way she was going to lose some dignity, and she decided she'd rather do it with her clothes on.

"You."

"Good girl. Two. Who do you respect?"

"You"

Draco shook his head in mock sadness and opened another button. Ginny's blouse fell open to reveal more of her stomach and he slid his palm across her stomach, making her gasp again.

"You respect me, my family, the Dark Lord, and his followers. Clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Three. Who decides what obedience is?"

"You do."

"Very good. Four, who decides what respect is?"

"You do."

Draco smirked.

"Five. Who do you belong to?"

Ginny bit her lip in anger. He was humiliating her and enjoying it, the sodding git. She sighed.

"Is that one difficult, Miss Weasley?" Draco mocked, toying with her next button. Ginny looked away.

"No. I belong to you."

"Six. Are you planning to run away again?"

"No."

Draco slid the third button out of place and ran his fingers lightly along her bare skin. Ginny shivered.

"How was that incorrect?"

"Silly little girl. You think I don't know that you're going to plan to run away again? I think you've forgotten my rule about not telling lies." Draco's voice still dripped with sweetness, but a definite sarcasm rode underneath.

Ginny didn't like where this game was going at all. Draco's eyes were dark with anger…and another expression that Ginny tried to ignore. Three more buttons and he'd have her shirt off.

"Seven. Did you see someone in the dungeon last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you know who it was?"

"No."

Draco arched an eyebrow and undid another button. Ginny's bra peeked out and he slid his thumb just under the fabric between her breasts. She gasped, barely holding back a whimper, and earned another smirk from Draco.

"Try again."

"Hermione."

"Good girl."

"What happens to the mudblood if you continue to break my rules?"

Ginny stared at him, confused. He reached for her second-to-last button.

"I don't know!" she cried, panicked. Draco smiled as he slipped open her shirt, her chest fully revealed. Ginny gasped reflexively.

"And _that_ was before I touched you. You're fun to play with, little one. Why don't you try again. What happens to the mudblood if you keep breaking my rules?"

"You'll…you'll hurt her."

"Good girl." Draco ran a long finger from her navel up her stomach and between her breasts, eliciting a whimper from Ginny. Draco smirked at her.

"Final question. If you really do belong to me, why should I not undo this last button?"

Ginny suddenly felt very cold. Either way she answered that, he had her.

"Because…because…it's…I…"

Draco popped open the button and smoothed back the cloth. His gaze raked over her bare skin, eyes dark.

"No 'because,' my little Ginny. You're _mine_."

--

A/N: What? Is that a cliff? Oops...

Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews. I'm having such a terribly fun time writing this, in part because I've been able to connect with so many D/G shippers and read their work as well. You are awesome, and I'm not going to threaten you with awful plots (this time around...)

I did have trouble with this chapter--just couldn't get things exactly right. Please give me feedback and feel free to critique, because I have a feeling that this one needs some editing. **I****'m still hunting for a beta for this.**

Finally, many of you have pointed out that there is no way I'm finishing this in ten chapters. I went back to my original outline and according to that I've just finished chapter four, and especially as the later chapters get so much more complicated as the story unfolds, I think it's going to be closer to thirty chapters. I hope that doesn't scare anyone away (especially potential betas). I suppose I could try to divide it into separate fics, though I personally prefer to read longer ones...anyway, I'm shooting in the dark here, so** if you have a preference let me know. **


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Draco popped open the button and smoothed back the cloth. His gaze raked over her bare skin, eyes dark._

"_No 'because,' little Ginny. You're mine."_

Draco ran a lazy finger up from her waist to her bra, tracing the lacy garment slowly. Ginny shivered. Unbridled desire shone in his eyes and she couldn't look at him and still keep her composure. She stifled another pitiful gasp and turned her head to the side. _Not happening. This is not happening._

"What are you thinking about, little traitor? Don't think I can't see right through you and your pitiful little attempt to escape. Look at me."

He slipped a head behind her neck and pulled her toward him. Ginny fought him for a hesitant second, but decided against it. She did not feel like she could fight and win from such a fragile position.

Draco stared at her eyes for a long moment, the brandy pools showing him fear and barely concealed loathing. The girl obviously needed to learn some control. He lifted her head from the mattress steadily, ignoring her half-hearted struggle. Her shirt slid from her shoulders as he sat her on the edge of the bed and she crossed her arms over her stomach reflexively.

Ginny realized that with her arms curled around her stomach she probably looked completely pathetic. She dropped them and looked Draco directly in the eye, daring him to touch her. They stayed like that for a long moment, staring into the unsearchable depths of one another.

Draco pounced first, throwing Ginny down to her back again. His hands were in her hair, on her back, tracing her bra, following the curve of her neck up to tangle again in her hair. He kissed her with unbidden ferocity, forcing her mouth open and thoroughly exploring it. When Ginny gasped this time, it was for air. Draco pulled away just as suddenly and Ginny licked her bruised lower lip.

"If I ever catch you mocking my mother or breaking my rules again, traitor, you'll wish all I wanted to do was play a game." His eyes wandered over her shivering, exposed skin meaningfully.

He stalked out of the room, leaving a very confused Ginny lying on the bed. She sat there for a moment in wonder. What had just happened? That kiss had felt like the beginning of the end…and then it _was_ the end.

She sat up so suddenly that she saw stars and struggled to yank her shirt back on. Fumbling with the buttons she cast it aside and went to her closet in search of pajamas. She slipped on a pair of blue satin pajamas and crawled into her bed, still shaken with adrenaline and alive with shock. It was hours before she succumbed to sleep.

--

When Ginny awoke the next morning, the house elf was once again pulling open the draperies and letting warm sunlight spill into the room. Ginny gave the little creature her breakfast order and walked over the nearest window, leaning against the sun-warmed glass. Her encounter last night had slipped into the realm of bad dreams by now, and she left it to rest. There was no use dwelling on it; the event only furthered her need to get out of this damn house and away from the Malfoys and their sodding pretension.

The elf arrived with breakfast and a note for Ginny from Mrs. Malfoy. Ginny thanked the creature, who looked abashedly at her before he disappeared. Apprehensively, Ginny opened the note as she sat down to eat.

_Miss Weasley,_

_I regret to inform you that your tutelage under me shall be postponed until tomorrow. In lieu of your lessons, please visit the Malfoy library. I have selected works pertaining to etiquette, decorum, and social protocol for your edification. I shall expect a basic mastery of them in the due course of the week._

_N. Malfoy_

Ginny, whose hopes were raised by the first sentence, sighed when they came crashing down by the last one. Edification indeed! The last thing Ginny wanted to do was learn how to act around a bunch of Death Eaters. She thoughtfully munched on a buttery croissant. A visit to the library also meant that she'd have to wander around the manor for a bit, which could lead into a run in with the last person she felt like seeing at the moment, even if she carefully followed Narcissa's enclosed instructions. Maybe she could request the house elf deliver the books to her room.

--

"If the wedding is in one month's time, when do you suppose the Dark Lord will declare me his heir?"

Draco spread jam on his croissant, his eyes on the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. Lucius had already finished his breakfast and was flipping through the post disinterestedly.

"Soon, I hope. He grows weaker daily, and if he loses power entirely before we are ready, our difficulties will grow exponentially."

Draco nodded as he turned the page.

"There's an article in here about the supposed instability at Gringotts. Have you read it? The recent crisis at the Ministry of Magic and current state of affairs is causing economic panic."

Lucius smiled.

"I don't need to read it. A few whispers here, a subtle hint there, a few choice withdrawals from large investments…power is not all in Unforgivable curses, my son."

Draco raised an eyebrow and grinned at his father.

"Oh, I know that intimately well. So everything will be in place when the Dark Lord chooses me?"

"Yes, provided he chooses you soon and has no other stipulations."

Draco looked up at his father.

"Other stipulations?"

Lucius carefully studied a letter, avoiding his son's querying look.

"Oh, he might want you to ensure the succession, for one."

Draco choked on his croissant.

"Draco, you've gotten crumbs all over that shirt. Do be more carful" Narcissa said as she sailed in, resplendent in emerald green. "I'm off to Diagon Alley. Don't worry, darling," she said in response to her husband's expression, "the Weasley girl is occupied."

She kissed her husband's cheek and apparated with a pop as Draco managed to swallow his breakfast.

"You can't possibly mean what I think you mean."

"Well, Draco, there is always the possibility that he will insist—"

"Merlin, this is bloody insane. So you think I'm going to kidnap the Weasley girl, marry her, perform some dark ancient spell on her, and then impregnate her in a month's time? Fucking ridiculous."

Draco stood up and stalked to the fireplace, leaning his head on the mantle. Lucius put down the stack of correspondence and looked at his son.

"I'm only trying to prepare you for the worst. The Dark Lord did not mention an heir, so chances are that the _Sang Primoris_ will be sufficient. If that is the case, we may be able to move forward with our plans in six weeks' time."

Draco sighed and returned to the table, absentmindedly brushing the crumbs from his shirtfront.

"We'll be able to move forward if idiots like Goyle stop bumbling around. I almost lost her twice to his incompetence. She knows about the mudblood now, too."

"I trust you were severe with him."

"A Cruciatus and a few choice others. I took his wand as well—she had it hidden in her hair."

"In her hair?"

"She's been a bit more trouble than I anticipated. A house elf found it when they were preparing her for bed. I assume Goyle didn't report it missing because he didn't feel like receiving an Avada in the middle of a party. Of course when I found out that he had hidden that piece of information from me I wasn't too pleased."

"And Miss Weasley—she has no recollection of the evening?"

"I let her keep her memories just until they brought out the mudblood. If I have to not only marry her but also live with her, I didn't want her witnessing that."

Lucius nodded gravely.

"I didn't want to witness it myself."

Draco nodded and stood.

"The sooner we get those brutes under control the better. I did tell her that if she runs from me again, Granger will suffer."

"How did she respond?"

"Well enough. Of course, I told her a few other things too." Draco smirked. "I think she'll be a good little girl for awhile."

"Fine, but make sure you control yourself, Draco. Just so long as she's still able to fulfill the demands of the Sang in a few short weeks, she's yours."

Draco laughed derisively.

"Oh, she knows."

--

Ginny stalked through the halls of the Manor, cursing the architects and the house elves in the same breath. The stupid creatures wouldn't come when she called, leaving her to find her own way to the library. The mazes of oak paneled corridor were confusing, and here and there were staircases, some large and grand and others just half a story. Some of the doors were built to match the paneling, and Ginny was certain that she'd missed one at some point during her trek.

Her new shoes tapped softly on the hard floor as she cursed and backtracked after coming up on a dead end. Surely the library would be somewhere pretentious, probably near the front door, not tucked away in a random corner. Why did three people need such a ridiculously large house?

The wall next to her slid open with a low rumble and Ginny shrieked. A small house elf dressed in a nearly shredded hand towel trotted off, ignoring her completely.

"Hey! Excuse me!"

The elf kept moving and she wondered if the stupid beings had selective hearing.

"You there! I need to find the library. Mrs. Malfoy requested it."

At the mention of her mistress's name, the elf turned around and stared up at Ginny with wide eyes. Maybe the selective hearing idea wasn't far off.

"Miss'll follow Roosy."

Ginny followed the elf back through the hall and up a short staircase, then down another corridor and another large staircase. At the bottom Ginny recognized the foyer she had crossed in her very first escape attempt out the front door, and she longingly gazed at the door. It was flanked by full-length paned windows, and she could see the drive and gardens beyond.

"Ahem."

The elf's cough pulled Ginny's reticent attention back to her task, and she followed her into the library, a brighter room than Ginny remembered, with shelves and stacks of books everywhere. On a small table by the door lay a pile of six tomes with her name resting on top. Groaning, Ginny pulled the first volume from the stack and turned to the elf, only to find that the little creature had vanished. There was no way she could get all the way back to her room alone, so she was going to have to read here. She found a comfortable chair near the window and opened _Lady Squigglemerry's Rules of Etiquette_. Two pages in, her mind began to wander and she gazed around the room. With all of the spell books and other interesting things she was bound to find, Ginny decided that wiling yet another day away with manners would be a travesty. She could come back to Lady Squigglemerry later.

A brief exploration of the library didn't yield much, although it was clear that the Malfoy's collection of Dark Arts works was extensive and well over half of the library would have been categorized as restricted if not banned outright at Hogwarts. Ginny eyed a book on hexes thoughtfully and sighed. It would be really satisfying to hit Malfoy with a nasty hex. Bat bogeys came to mind, but with no wand such a pursuit was worthless.

She wandered further into the library and found a desk with a very old parchment spread out across it. She bumped into a corner of the ancient paper and it crumbled like a moth's wing. Curious, Ginny studied the paper and found that it was all in ancient runes. She deciphered a few words here and there—power was repeated many times—but runes had never been her favorite subject. Ginny once again found herself wishing for Hermoine's intellect and she felt a pang for her dear friend suffering from who-knows-what at the hand of you-know-who.

"I've got to get us out of here." She whispered fiercely.

A scroll at the edge of the table caught her eye, full of small notes in a clean, aristocratic hand. Ginny seized the paper and began to read. Apparently, the runes gave directions to a spell that would provide a strange and mighty power to the one who performed it.

Ginny scanned the scroll quickly. It was clear that the father and son—and probably the wife—were involved in a complicated scheme. The Dark Lord was involved, unsurprisingly, but there were no details except that it seemed to center on this power-giving spell.

She blanched as she read the spell's requirements. That was why she was here, why she was being forced into a wedding, and probably why Draco had left her so quickly last night. Ginny's pulse pounded in her ears and she felt chilled. They were using her as a means to an end, and she was nothing but a tiny pawn in a play for power. Tears pricked at her eyes. They were planning on taking her last shred of herself and openly stealing her hopes for the future and there was nothing she could do other than run.

Numbly, Ginny walked out of the library and to the front door. Hesitantly she grasped the heavy brass handle and pulled open the door. Sunlight streamed in around her and she stared blankly at the path in front of her.

Malfoy would catch her in minutes. And Hermione…he'd hurt Hermione.

What would Hermione do? Ginny took a breath and shut the door. Hermione would go back to the library. Resolved to find a way out of this awful mess and keep her sanity, Ginny crossed the foyer and entered the library.

"Enjoying the view from the front door, were we?" drawled Draco, sitting opposite the doorway. Ginny felt her temperature rise at the sight of him. The memory of last night combined with the audacity of his plan was enough to make her blood boil, but the way he looked at her with an odd blend of arrogance and possession sent her over the top.

"Yes I was, Malfoy. If you'll excuse me, I need to study."

"Oh really?" he inquired, standing.

"Yes. Didn't your mother tell you?" she snapped, "it is ever so important that the fucking Malfoys eat with the right fork."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I hardly think that type of language can be called respectful."

"I don't give a damn, Malfoy." Ginny was heady with temper. A small voice in the back of her head warned her that she might regret this later, but the pent up anger and frustration from the previous night were effectively shutting it up. "In fact, I don't give a damn for any of your stupid rules or lessons. Take them with you to hell for all I care!"

Draco was at her throat in an instant. Grabbing her shoulder, he pushed her down into an armchair and towered over her.

"I told you that you were mine and I meant it. I can know where you are and what you are doing whenever I choose. I told you that I wanted you to be obedient and respectful, and that I always get what I want."

Ginny lifted her chin and shot daggers into his silver eyes.

"That explains why you're such a bastard, Malfoy. You're thoroughly spoilt."

Draco rolled his eyes contemptuously.

"I promise you, there are no bastards among the Malfoy line."

"Oh really? I would have thought otherwise, given the number of sluts!" Ginny pushed the chair back and stood up as tall as she could, annoyed that the top of her head just reached his chin. Draco steered her toward a tall shelf of books, pinning her to it with one strong arm.

"You're going to regret that." His voice was icy but his eyes smoldered. Ginny felt her courage deflating and grasped for straws.

"Maybe. But you're never going to forget that I said it, and you can't kill me, Malfoy. Hell, you can't even rape me!"

He grabbed her head and held it in both hands, his fingers tangling painfully in her hair.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

Ginny froze as she realized her mistake. Now was probably not a good time to let him know that she knew about his little plot.

"You…you…you don't have it in you." She finished lamely.

Draco paused and eyed her curiously for a moment, then released her.

"I see."

Ginny watched him nervously. Was he seriously letting her go?

"Get back to work. You're going to be a 'fucking Malfoy' in a short time and you better learn to act like one." He turned to go, leaving an incredulous Ginny staring in his wake.

"Oh," he paused at the door, smirking wickedly, "and once you finish with my mother's lessons do come see me. I've got another I want you to learn."

--

**A/N:** See? No mean cliffs like last time. Just an itty-bitty one for fun.

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	10. Chapter 10

Frustrated, Ginny slammed the cover of another dusty tome. Hours of searching through even the oldest books and manuscripts in the Malfoy library had yielded absolutely nothing about this so-called _Sang Primoris_. She had even returned to the crumbling vellum with a book on ancient runes, hoping to discover more by translating additional sections of the manuscript, but she quickly decided that Lucius's careful work was more than she could ever hope to accomplish. With a sigh, she lifted the latest heavy volume back onto the shelf and wiped her grimy hands on her skirt. A loud pop made her jump.

"Mistress Malfoy requires the presence of Miss immediately."

Crap. Narcissa Malfoy was probably going to ask about Squiggleberry or whatever the damned etiquette lady's name was, and between Malfoy's interruption and her quest to find a way out of the spell that would ruin her life and probably those of everyone else in the entire world, Ginny hadn't cracked the manners book. She groaned inwardly and followed the House Elf through another maze of corridors to Narcissa's parlor.

"Ah! Miss Weasley! Your things from Madame Tallieur have arrived. Come."

Relieved that she had a little bit longer to gain knowledge of Squiggle-what's-her-name, Ginny followed Narcissa as she led the way through the manor. She wondered again why three people needed such a monstrosity of a house. Maybe they all shared a secret passion for tromping down long hallways.

The House Elf opened the door to Ginny's room and bowed low as the two women entered. Narcissa walked over to the closet and led the girl inside. The dressing room had been magically enlarged to twice its original size and was now considerably larger than her entire bedroom back at The Burrow. Beautiful clothes hung in neat lines and doors of paneled mahogany revealed shoes, handbags, belts, and scarves.

"There, my dear. Now you are outfitted according to your station. What do you think?"

Ginny touched a velvet black gown with a tentative finger.

"I…this…I…er, thank you."

The clothes were beautiful, but looking at them made her feel rather sick. These pretty things were the result of oppression and injustice, and wearing them would be more of the same.

"I suppose we need to continue working on your ability to form complete sentences. How were your studies today, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny blinked and scrambled for a way to distract the older woman.

"They were, er, informative. I apologize. I truly am very grateful. May I try some of these on?"

"Yes, of course." Narcissa's eyes gleamed as she selected a little black dress from an array of sumptuous looking gowns. She handed it to Ginny and turned to another cabinet, from which she selected a few choice undergarments. Ginny gulped as she glanced over the woman's shoulder at the lacy, silky garments the chest contained. Who in their right mind would need such elaborate underwear? She checked herself. She was in Malfoy Manor. No one here was in a right mind.

Narcissa turned her attention to a wall of shoes, where she spent a few moments choosing a few pairs of black heels before turning to the dress. Studying the combinations carefully, she said,

"I will be selecting your wardrobe on a daily basis until you have been appropriately trained in matters of style. I can hardly expect you to understand the intricacies of coordinating a pair of shoes with a dress and accessorizing, matters which can take months or even years to master."

Ginny was affronted. Of course, her idea of dressing up before had involved basic dress robes and shoes with a heel, but the idea that someone else would be picking out her clothes for her made her feel like she was two. For that matter, when she was two her mum had her hands so full with all of the boys that Ginny was choosing her own clothes as soon as she could dress herself.

Apparently, Narcissa Malfoy did not even think she was capable of even dressing herself, because before Ginny could find words to tell her that she did not enjoy the prospect of becoming a doll, the House Elf was helping her out of her clothes and into the ones Narcissa had selected. Ginny blushed as the small creature helped her out of her bra and into a silky black one with Narcissa standing imperiously before her.

"There, my dear. Now you look like a Malfoy. I trust that you will soon learn to act like one as well?"

Ginny stared at her reflection. She did _not_ look like a Malfoy, but she didn't look much like a Weasley, either. Her cheeks were still aflame with embarrassment and her resolve was melting like ice cream in the sun, but the dress was undeniably lovely. It clung in all of the right places and none of the wrong ones, and the neckline was the perfect shape to highlight her features. It was even comfortable. Ginny felt sick.

"Miss Weasley, I asked you a direct question. It is ill-advised to ignore questions from your betters."

Ginny could see Narcissa's reflection in the mirror and she turned slowly to face her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear the question."

"Now that you look like a Malfoy, will you start learning to act like one?"

Ginny's mind screamed at her to tell the witch exactly what she thought of these clothes, these rules, and this awful family. She wanted out of this little black dress that symbolized her permanent captivity and the deaths of thousands of others, and she wanted the entire closet shredded. She wanted to fly at the woman, tear at her perfect chignon and scratch out her eyes. Her mind screamed, but her lips were quiet.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. I will."

"Excellent. I'll be in tomorrow morning to collect you for a fitting for your wedding gown."

As soon as Narcissa's retreating back disappeared, Ginny flew at the dress, tugging it up and over her head. The pretty garment twisted and clung to her skin and refused to unzip. Ginny screamed and tore at the back of the dress, but it wouldn't budge. She turned back to her reflection and pounded her fist against the glass, sinking to the floor. The Ginny in the mirror stared back at her, blotchy red and impeccably dressed.

She screamed in frustration once more and then sobbed, utterly weary of the whole evil game.

"I thought I told you to come to me when you were finished with my mother."

Draco Malfoy was leaning in the open door, the long light from the setting sun glowing at his feet. Ginny didn't feel like giving him the same subservience and she stood up quickly, rubbing her eyes. Draco came up to meet her and, placing his hands on her hips, turned her to face the mirror.

"You have on a very lovely dress, Miss Weasley," he whispered into her ear, once again speaking far too sweetly.

Ginny stared again at her reflection. Her face was splotched and puffy and her eyes burned. This time, instead of Narcissa evaluating coldly in the background, Draco was pressed up behind her, his hands wrapping around her hips, and his head lowered intimately toward her ear. Ginny shivered at the tableau. It was a little too real, a little too close to how a lover might look whispering in his beloved's ear, and Ginny knew he had her looking at it on purpose.

"It's a horrid dress, Malfoy. I hate it." She slid his arms off her and turned to face him.

"Well, that is a problem, isn't it?" he said, and for half a moment Ginny believed he was genuinely concerned. "I suppose the best solution would be to take the damn thing off, hm?"

He spun her around again and before Ginny could comprehend the meaning of his words, the zipper that had been so unyielding thirty minutes ago was undone. Malfoy ran a finger up her exposed spine, pausing for a moment at the clasp of her bra. With a shriek, Ginny spun away from him and attempted to clutch the fabric back together behind her back.

"How dare you!"

"How dare I? We have been over this, little Weasley. You belong to me."

Malfoy's voice was almost playful, but Ginny caught the dark edge. He walked toward her and she stepped back until she felt the cool glass of the mirror at her back. She turned quickly and dodged him; Malfoy had an affinity for getting her up against a wall and she was not about to let him do it again. She didn't need the smell of his cologne haunting her thoughts any more than necessary.

"I might belong to you according to your sick Death Eater rules, but that does not mean I'm going to stand idly by as you undress me!"

"Oh? So you're going to walk about the room instead? That makes my part much more difficult, you realize."

Ginny scowled at him.

"Yes, I realize." She had managed to find the zipper's end and was awkwardly tugging it up as she walked backward keeping both eyes on Malfoy, a difficult operation in the heels she was wearing.

"You realize that I have a wand and I'm much bigger than you, don't you?" Draco smiled, clearly amused at her blundering attempt to keep out of his reach.

"Yes, I realize that too." Ginny snapped. She continued to struggle with the zipper and took another step backward.

"And someone who is smart enough to realize all of that must realize that she's about to run into her bed?"

As he said it, Ginny stepped back, unaware of the bed behind her, and her knees gave way. She tried to stand up, but her stupid shoes slid against the floor, and she fell backward onto the bed. It took two more seconds for Draco to casually lift himself up to straddle her stomach.

"My, this is familiar. You run from me, and I end up on top of you. Either you secretly like me here, or you just don't learn. Perhaps a combination of both?"

It _was_ a little too familiar, and while Ginny couldn't listen to her mind when it came to tearing out Narcissa's eyes, she had no problem gouging out Draco's. With an angry shriek she flew up at him and pushed with all of her might. Draco grabbed onto Ginny's arm, but the balance was already tipped and he fell off the bed, pulling Ginny along. She grabbed at the coverlet, but the cloth was satin, and she landed on top of him, her face in his chest.

"Well, Weasley. If you wanted to be on top all you had to do was ask."

Furious, Ginny tried to extricate herself from the blanket and Malfoy, but he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her body pressed against his, and Ginny paused. Malfoy had kissed her more than once now, and even gone a bit beyond that, but this position, with his strong arms wrapped around her, was a different kind of trap than being pushed against a wall or trapped on a bed. For a moment, it felt strangely good. But just for a moment.

"Malfoy, you bastard, let me go."

Any hint of playfulness went out of the blond man's eyes and in one smooth motion, he flipped them over so that she was beneath him.

"What have I said about being disrespectful?" He spoke slowly, punctuating each words with ice. "Answer me."

Ginny had half a mind to spit in his face, but a look at Malfoy's dark eyes squelched it. Tangled as they were in the blanket, she could feel the warmth of his body pressed up into hers, and yet his eyes looked like they could freeze hell.

"Answer me, Ginevra."

Ginny was so startled at his use of her given name that she obeyed.

"You told me to respect you."

"And yet you aren't."

"Maybe you aren't as good of a teacher as you think." Ginny bit her tongue. Probably not the wisest remark to say while trapped underneath Draco Malfoy.

He stared at her, his eyes inches from her own.

"In just a few short weeks, I'm going to own you. Inside and out. No one but me will have any say in what you do or what is done to you. Not even you." He ran a cool hand lightly across her face and then grabbed it so that she couldn't look away. "I have been very explicit in my warnings, but you still don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation. I suggest that you think about it, Ginevra. Think about what it will be like to be totally and completely owned."

His silver eyes stared hard into her amber ones, and Ginny wasn't sure whether to scream or cry or yell. She was scared, deeply scared, and she was absolutely sure that Draco knew.

Slowly, Draco closed the distance between them and touched his lips gently to hers. He slid an arm under her back, pulling her even closer, and gently parted her lips with his tongue. His other hand was still holding her head, and he ran his thumb along the smooth skin on her cheek. He broke the kiss slowly and Ginny stared up at him, wide eyed.

"I think we're going to try a different tack, little Weasley. I can be a _very_ good teacher. Lesson one."

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her again, just as gently.

"Kiss me back, Weasley," he murmured.

Tentatively, Ginny obeyed.

"Good girl. Now let me in."

Ginny was torn, but again she obeyed. Draco continued the kiss, slowly and softly exploring her mouth.

Ginny was confused. The man was either moody or a brilliant manipulator, and even though Ginny recognized it was probably the latter, she couldn't help melting into him.

"Your turn," he whispered to her wide eyes, "kiss me back."

Ginny squirmed uncomfortably underneath him, but Malfoy met her again and she slowly slipped her tongue into his mouth. It tasted sweet.

"Good girl. Again."

She obeyed, cursing herself. It was probably better to obey than argue at this point anyway. He would be married to her and have the power he described soon enough, and then there was Hermione to think about. Making an even bigger enemy of him wouldn't be very clever, would it?

Draco took one of her hands and placed it around his own head.

"There. Now, again."

Draco didn't lower his head back to Ginny's, and she watched him, waiting, her hand trembling on his neck.

"You're holding my head for a reason, Ginevra," he gave her a small smirk, "be a smart girl. Kiss me."

Ginny swallowed and pulled Draco's head toward hers. This time he made her part his lips, and she tentatively explored again. Draco finished the kiss leisurely and looked down at her again, his eyes dark with something far from anger this time.

"So what do you think of my skills as a teacher now, little witch?" He smiled smugly at her speechless expression. "Have you finally learned one of my lessons?" Ginny bit her lip and nodded. It wasn't as if this was a terribly bad one to learn, she countered in her mind. Her self-respect was still intact. Draco opened his mouth and hesitated for a moment.

"I'll send in an Elf to help you prepare for bed. Goodnight, little Weasley."

Draco disentangled himself from the blanket and left the room. Ginny sighed and sat up. What in hell had just happened?

* * *

Narcissa sighed for a completely different reason, her head against Lucius's bare shoulder. Contrary to popular belief, she hadn't married him for mere blood and money. When it came to the bedroom, her husband was a god, and Narcissa enjoyed her worship thoroughly. Lucius ran a slow finger through her blonde locks, then gasped.

"Lucius? What is it?"

"The Dark Lord. I swear it, when this thing is over, these foul marks will be the first to go. I'm sorry my love."

"No, darling. Go. If he's meeting you this late it means he'll be alone. This could be important for your plan."

Lucius got out of bed and dressed quickly, Apparating to the Dark Lord's domain. Voldemort sat on his throne, clutching at the armrests as if merely remaining upright was tiresome. His skin sagged, hanging like crumpled paper from his cheekbones, and Lucius controlled his grimace.

"My lord, you summoned me?"

"Yes, Lucius, my most faithful of followers. Bella informs me that the nuptials for your son are to take place in a month's time?"

"All according to plan, my lord. The spell will be performed that very night. Narcissa is arranging everything."

"Very good. However, I feel that given my current condition, it would behoove us all to speed things up. I'm certain Narcissa is capable of arranging things to occur in, oh, a week from now?"

Lucius's eyes gleamed.

"Yes, my lord. If it is your will, I can begin orchestrating a change of dates immediately."

"It is my will. See that it is done. Now, leave me. I must rest."

Lucius Apparated back to his study. Without even taking a moment to whisk away his heavy cloak, he grabbed a scrap of parchment and dashed off a quick note.

"Elf!" he called, carefully wrapping the paper around the leg of his great black owl. He sent the majestic bird out the window as a House Elf popped into the room.

"Bring me Draco."

* * *

"You had better just go home, Pans. I'm not in the mood."

Pansy Parkinson was not in the mood for a moody Malfoy.

"Come on, Draco. You're always in the mood," she said in her sultriest voice, curving her spine advantageously and drawing her fingernails along his arm. "Why else would you call? Surely you don't want to talk." She laughed, hoping Draco didn't notice the tinge of bitterness beneath her giggle.

Draco eyed Pansy's voluptuous curves with disinterest. After being wrapped up with Ginevra Weasley for a good half hour, Pansy had sounded like a good idea. Normally her presence was numbing but tonight…tonight she reminded him of something painful, and he wasn't sure what it was.

Slowly, Pansy began to unbutton her top. She straddled Draco's lap and flicked open a button, but Draco just watched with a frown. Frustrated, Pansy opened the rest of her shirt, but he merely looked on, disinterested. Pansy knew that Draco used her, but she used him too, and in Pansy's world that was fine. She understood silent Draco well enough—he just needed a good shag—but silent, brooding Draco was a different animal altogether.

"Is this about the marriage? I can't _imagine_ you being actually married to someone, especially that awful blood betraying Weasley. I mean, she looks all right, but seriously…"

"It's not Weasley. I don't know what it is, Pans. I'm just not in the mood anymore. Go already. Please."

It was the please that did it. Pansy bit her lip and pulled her shirt back on, then Disapparated with a loud crack.

Draco stood and poured himself a glass of brandy. He took a sip and toyed with the idea of summoning Daphne. She hadn't come crawling yet and calling her was a bit of a gamble, especially when he wasn't sure that she'd satisfy whatever was going on in his head. What in hell was wrong with him?

He heard the timid knock of a House Elf from the bedroom door and rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood to be summoned by his father. Shagging Pansy would have been better.

* * *

Morning for Ginny brought not only the House Elf to her bedside, but also Narcissa Malfoy.

"Hurry up, Miss Weasley! We have an appointment to maintain."

Ginny groaned and rubbed her eyes. Her dreams had been full of two very different but identical tall blond men, one who kissed her softly and another who held her prisoner against her will, and she felt exhausted despite hours of sleep.

The House Elf dressed her in an outfit of Narcissa's choosing, and the two women used the Floo to return to France.

"Ah, Madame Malfoy and Mademoiselle! Such a pleasure to see you again. I find you are wearing an outfit of my design! I trust everything in the order was satisfactory?"

"Yes," Narcissa answered, "but we are here for the wedding gown. We agreed upon fitting it today, did we not?"

"Ah, _oui_. If you will please give me the permission to fetch my mother?"

"Of course."

As quickly as she left, Madame Tailleur was back, and with her a familiar looking little old woman. Ginny stared openly. Without a doubt, this lady was one and the same as her helper from a few weeks ago.

"Miss Weasley, this is Madame Tailleur. She speaks no English, but she will be designing your gown. I know you haven't mastered the French language by any stretch of the imagination, but you probably haven't mastered the latest in bridal styles either, so you really don't need to have a voice in the matter."

Ginny could feel her anger rising, but Narcissa and the younger Madame had already begun to speak in rapid French. The older Madame, however, slowly walked toward Ginny. She gestured for Ginny to come down from her step and took Ginny's hand in both of hers, squeezing it lately. She smiled sadly up at Ginny.

"_Avez-vous perdu votre baguette magique encore?"_ Ginny bit her lip.

"I don't understand."

"_Ou avez-vous perdu votre coeur?"_ Ginny glanced furtively at Narcissa, who was still ignoring her, and then looked pleadingly at old Madame Tailleur.

"Help me," she pleaded. "I know you can't really understand me, but please. If I marry him…I won't be the only one in trouble."

The old lady squeezed her hand and turned to her daughter and Narcissa.

"_Commencement!"_she cried, and the two ladies stared at her. She began to speak in quick French, gesturing madly with her wand. Bolts of silk, satin, lace, and tulle began to flit around the room, ribbons fluttered and beads bounced, surrounding Ginny with fabric and glitter.

"_Fin!"_ cried the woman, and Ginny turned to the mirror. The dress was perfect. It was a gorgeous white ballgown, but what Ginny loved was its delicacy. There were none of the hard cold lines of haute fashion here, but instead old-fashioned lace and delicate, barely-there beading. The dress looked like a fairy had made it, and part of Ginny wondered if one had.

"Well," said the younger Tailleur, "you see she hasn't lost her touch."

"Hardly." Narcissa was close to speechless, a fact that Ginny would have found more amusing if she wasn't speechless herself. In truth, her heart was broken. To feel this stunningly beautiful for a fake marriage to an evil villain ripped something apart in Ginny, and for the first time the fear that she felt about the upcoming marriage found a partner in an achingly deep sadness.

The little woman approached Ginny again and smoothed the delicate fabric with an aged, stiff hand. She gave Ginny a feeble grin and winked, or at least it appeared that way through Ginny's teary vision.

"Very well. We'll take it now. I need it by the end of the week, and as much as I love your work, Madame, this dress is a piece of art and needs nothing else."

"By the end of the week?" asked Ginny in a strangled voice.

"Did no one tell you? The wedding has been moved forward." She turned to Madame Tailleur. "You see why I'm such a busy woman! Of course, if anyone can manage planning a wedding in six short days, it will be me."

Ginny didn't hear the dressmaker's reply above the roaring in her ears. Only six damned days to figure out a way out of this mess. What in hell…

* * *

**A/N:** I have studied very little French (not much at all beyond my ballet). If my translations are horrible, please correct them.

1) Have you lost your wand again?  
2) Or have you lost your heart?  
3) Beginning!  
4) Ending.

Yes, I know I took a break! You can't get too mad though—it's still less than three weeks and I was so terribly good about the first nine chapters. I gave you an my longest chapter to date, nearly four whole pages of d/g goodness, AND avoided a cliff, just because I love you.

This chapter is dedicated to Rowan-Greenleaf, who not only is an amazing writer, but also an amazing reviewer. If you like _Red Ember_, you owe her a thank you because if it wasn't for her persistent pestering, you wouldn't be reading this right now!

So review! I love reviewers, both faithful followers and new ones, and you better believe that I will respond personally! If you liked it, please give me some details! I live for the detailed reviews..._(Why Aerileigh Loves Reviews, Volume 1)_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Gah! In my haste to get this to you I accidentally put up the wrong version of the chapter the first time. Thanks to JennCvice for pointing it out! Sorry to anyone who received multiple alerts--I'm still new to the doc manager!

* * *

Hermione Granger woke up too slowly. It seemed to be getting just a little bit harder to open her eyes every day—if it was day—and just a little easier to ignore the aches and close them in sleep.

"Good morning, Granger."

She lifted her eyes toward the mask. He was the only one who still called her that; the only reminder that she was still a human being with a name.

"Though I suppose it isn't very good for you, now is it?"

With tremendous effort she lifted her head from the rough stone floor of the cell and leaned on her forearms, the closest thing to sitting she could manage.

"You're in luck," he said brightly. "Today I'm not only going to give you this delightful breakfast, but I'm also going to make you feel a bit better. Doesn't that sound dandy?"

Hermione looked up warily. Her other tormentors had strange ideas about what would make her feel "better," and this one was far too jovial. He pushed a tray toward her. The metal ground against the rough floor and the sound pierced her fragile brain unforgivingly. The usual unappetizing fare graced the plate without shame, and her mind calculated the worth of expending energy to reach for it. From the edge of her eye she saw him reach for his wand and she tensed involuntarily.

"Merlin, Granger. As high-strung as a cornered kitten. You're nearly there, aren't you?"

She was too tired to figure out what that meant. It probably meant pain. Everything meant pain.

"Episkey."

The coolness of the magic spread across the surface of her body, tingling slightly across her bruises. She watched as the blue and black stains on her forearms melted back, leaving her pale skin to glow eerily white in the dim light.

"Well?"

She looked up at him, puzzled. The spell had only healed her smallest injuries and she still weak from lack of food and weeks of abuse. She sat up slowly, and while the motion painfully reminded her of the worst nights of her captivity, she was strangely thankful.

"Aren't you going to thank me, Granger?"

She couldn't read his expression in the dim light, but it sounded like he was trying to be playful. It was too hard to tell.

"Thank you." She whispered.

* * *

"Mother, I really don't see why I need to be bothered with all of these details for the wedding. I have four days left to myself and I would like to actually enjoy them."

Draco polished off his coffee and selected a croissant from the breakfast table. Narcissa pursed her lips.

"Draco, this wedding is going to be the social event of the season, and I should not have to remind you that true power is maintained with more than wands and spells."

Lucius put down The Daily Prophet and looked pointedly at his son.

"I think we've all experienced the iniquity of the other sort of leadership before."

Draco rolled his eyes and let out a slow breath.

"Fine. But I still don't care about the details." He turned with a slow smile toward his mother and added, "that's what I have you for, isn't it?"

"That, and to remind you that every single time you eat one of those you get crumbs all down your shirt. Honestly, my dear. Your bride has learned to be less slovenly."

Narcissa raised an amused eyebrow as her son looked down at his crisp white shirt and wrinkled his brow with slightly worried concern. Certainly, he was one of the most powerful wizards of his age on a number of playing fields, but she was privy to his idiosyncrasies and knew well the amount of time her precious son spent in front of a mirror.

"Speaking of power," Lucius cut in, "have you studied the particulars for the Sang Primoris? I know the details of the wedding day mean little to you, but the wedding night must be something else entirely."

Draco glanced at his mother involuntarily.

"No, I haven't looked over the spell since you showed it to me originally."

"But you are capable of—"

"Yes, perfectly capable." Draco said quickly. "Father, perhaps this is a conversation not suited for the, er, breakfast table."

"Now, Draco. You can joke about shagging the Hufflepuffs in front of your dear mother but you can't discuss your wedding night?" Narcissa smiled mischievously. "Honestly Draco. It's not as though I've never—"

"Really, Mother. Please."

Lucius and Narcissa shared a knowing smirk.

"Well, we could always change the subject. Do you think we should select the more traditional roses and stephanotis or something more contemporary, perhaps orchids? Either way we'll stud them with diamonds, an absolute non-negotiable, but I just can't decide on the blossom."

Draco rolled his eyes upward and shut his eyes as though praying for deliverance. He missed his mother's conniving grin toward his father, who shook his head at her teasing and went back into hiding with a flick of his newspaper.

* * *

The days had passed too quickly, and now the awful day had arrived.

Ginny exhaled slowly and ran her fingers down the bodice of her wedding gown. The girl in the mirror looked at her with wide amber eyes, not recognizing the face that gazed upon it. The reflection was beautiful, tragically so, with red tendrils resting on cheeks that were graced with the most delicate of beautifying charms. The worried brows were perfectly shaped, arching toward plentiful curls which were tucked away just so under a lacy veil.

She did not look like a Weasley.

The aching sadness that arose when she first wore the gown was nothing compared to the total despair she felt now. She was mourning the loss of dreams she had never allowed herself to have and of moments for which she had never hoped.

She'd never been the type to imagine her wedding—she'd spent more time sneaking off with her brothers' brooms than dreaming of a wedding gown—but suddenly, she realized that she was mourning those choices, those moments. If that weren't enough to agonize her heart, she remembered that there were only a few hours separating her from Draco Malfoy.

Her soul was torn asunder.

It was her own fault this was hitting her all at once. She had filled the last five days with denial. She'd scoured the library from top to bottom with the hope of finding something redeeming, shocking Mrs. Malfoy with her supposed studious diligence. Her efforts turned up void, though. Without a wand there was little she could do to escape. She had fantasized that Charlie and Remus and whomever else would come bursting in at some moment, curse the Malfoy lot into oblivion, and carry her off into the setting sun. For five long days, she'd wished and hoped and determined to escape, but now reality was crashing down around her ears in the form of a white gown, roses, and Pachelbel.

"Miss Weasley. My dear, you look perfect. Such a lovely gown, is it not?"

Narcissa peered at Ginny's reflection from over her shoulder, smoothing the veil with an elegantly manicured hand. Her entire appearance was flawless, and Ginny nearly shuddered at thought of countless beautifying charms applied year after perfect year to maintain the woman's natural beauty. Delicately, Narcissa adjusted the comb that held Ginny's veil in place. The delicate gold filigree was encrusted with precious stones and it sparkled radiantly in the afternoon light.

"Come, my dear. Everything is as it should be."

That was an outright lie, Ginny thought vehemently, but the rise of anger could not still the tide of panicked sorrow. She followed Narcissa obediently, a cold, hard lump in her stomach keeping her from floating away on clouds of denial.

At the top of the stairs two identical, angelic looking little girls picked up Ginny's train. She had no idea who they were and wondered for a moment if the Malfoys had transfigured flower girls from flower pots. She wouldn't put it past them. Narcissa led the small procession through the main hall toward the back garden. Her heels tapped on the floor in time with Ginny's heartbeat, which was thudding like an executioner's drum.

"Here we are, my dear. In a few moments these doors will open, at which time you will walk down the aisle. I should not have to remind you that I have worked very hard to ensure that this day is absolutely perfect, and if you even appear to be sabotaging that, you will find yourself under a very effective Imperious curse. Am I clear?"

The French doors opened and the sun spilled eagerly into the room. Through the doors Ginny could see a crowd of people looking at her expectantly. For a moment, she froze, but Narcissa delicately cleared her throat and Ginny snapped back. Should even the smallest chance at escape present itself, she wanted to have her mind at her own disposal. Tentatively, she stepped out into the waiting sunlight.

The crowd was mostly made up of Death Eaters. She could see the Lestranges and the Macnairs sitting toward the front, and sure enough, both the Crabbe and Goyle families were in attendance. Surprisingly, most of the crowd seemed to be pleasant, though two pretty blondes—Ginny couldn't remember their names, though she was sure they were sisters—looked as though they were trying to figure out how to hex her and get away with it. As Ginny passed by a familiar looking dark-complected young man, he winked flirtatiously and smirked as smugly as any Malfoy.

She had no idea how great the effect of the sunlight had on her gleaming white dress and titian hair. In moments, many of the doubts the Death Eaters might have had regarding Draco's choice vanished, as every single society reporter was ferociously scrawling about the radiant bride.

Ginny felt numb. The faces blurred with the flowers in the strong sunlight, and even the sight of her impeccably dressed, impossibly handsome, husband-to-be did little to stir or shake her. She took his hand vacantly, not noticing his narrowed eyes and stepped up to the altar.

"Are you under the Imperious curse?" he hissed.

"No," she whispered, surprised. "Are you going to—"

He shook his head curtly and turned his attention toward the officiate. Ginny did the same and gasped. Pius Thicknesse, the Minister of Magic, stood before her. Her mind swirled. If _he_ was _here_ marrying _her_ to _him_ then _everyone_ was in a lot more trouble than she realized.

"Witches and Wizards of England…" Thicknesse intoned, beginning the ceremony.

"Bloody fuck," Ginny whispered to herself, "bloody, bloody fuck."

"Oh, that's a perfectly _fantastic_ thing to say at the altar," Draco hissed.

"I'm at the altar with _you_. I'd say it's fitting."

"You've gotten rather cheeky in the past week." He snapped in barely a whisper.

"I've gotten cheeky? At least I'm not a self-absorbed git." She muttered.

"Self-absorbed, am I? Trust me, Ginevra. I'll spend plenty of time over the next week absorbed with you." He murmured, his eyes on Thicknesse.

She couldn't help but blush, and for a moment was thankful that a few choice charms were hiding her complexion from the world.

"I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be joined together in lawful matrimony, confess it now."

Thicknesse was glowering down at them, and for a brief moment Ginny considered explaining to everyone that she was not only here against her will, but also that the Malfoy family was inherently evil and carrying out a diabolical plan. However, Draco caught her eye, and the hard silver in his gaze and the shift in his jaw kept her silent.

"Very good. Draco Malfoy, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only to her, so long as you both shall live?"

Draco cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at the incredulous expression on Ginny's face.

"I will."

"Ginevra Weasley, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only to him, so long as you both shall live?"

Now Ginny cocked her eyebrow. The difference in the vows was subtle but marked, and she chided herself for being surprised.

She realized that Draco was glaring daggers at her. Narcissa was seated next to Lucius in the front row, idly toying with her wand.

"Oh, er, I will."

Damn.

"Please join your hands."

Draco's hands were cool and steady, and the gentle pressure of his thumb in her palm sent little chills through her. She had never held his hand before.

Her mind was foggy, yet clear. She was the shell again, but she was filled with fire. She was present, repeating vows, but far away, uncomprehending the meaning. She wondered if Narcissa had cursed her after all, but no, her movements were her own. Draco slipped a band of gold around her finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship, with my worldly goods, I thee endow."

The words rang loudly in her ears but the meaning was not lost. She'd have better access to his money now, but she would feel guilty every time she spent it. As for worshiping her with his body…Ginny didn't want to think about that. There was no ring for him. Far be it from the Malfoy family to have an egalitarian view of marriage.

Thicknesse droned louder still as he intoned the final words of the ceremony.

"As Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley have consented together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, and have given and pledged their vows to one another, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together. You may kiss your bride."

Draco leaned in toward Ginny, cupping her chin with a gentle hand and tilting her head slightly. His mouth met hers softly and she felt sparks shoot through her, and despite the chasteness of the kiss, she still gasped when he pulled away. She hoped he didn't notice.

The guests broke out into a quiet smattering of applause and the two walked back together down the aisle, followed by Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa gave Ginny a perfunctory embrace and Lucius nodded graciously, but the warmth ended there. Draco let out a preoccupied sigh as the guests began to filter out, greeting the party of four as they entered the Manor.

"Why, Ginevra, you look positively stunning. Your gown is an authentic Tallieur, is it not?"

Ginny was a little taken aback by the friendly interest shown by blonde girl's compliment—it was one of the two girls who looked like they wanted to kill her earlier. She murmured an affirmative reply and watched as the girl passed by Draco with barely a nod.

"Miss Greengrass." He said quietly, and Ginny watched as his eyes followed her through the doorway.

Most of the guests were polite but cool. They called her Mrs. Malfoy, which was terribly odd. Most gave her the smallest bob or bow they could afford while still looking respectful. This didn't bother Ginny at all; she wasn't sure what to make of any of it. The anxious sorrow was setting in again, and she desperately hoped that the after party would be a lengthy affair. She was now actually married to Draco, and only a few short hours separated her from the completion of the evil, ancient spell—and everything that it required.

"Come on, Ginevra."

She took Draco's elbow and followed him into a large ballroom. The space glittered and twinkled with diamond studded flowers and floating candles and soft music filtered through the air. Draco led her to the center of the dance floor and swept her into a slow waltz.

"So, Mrs. Malfoy, how does it feel to be married?"

"I don't really feel anything," she replied quietly.

"A little bit of denial, hm?"

He cocked a knowing eyebrow and smirked in such a way that a few weeks ago Ginny might have tried to smack him across the face for being a presumptuous git. Instead, she avoided his gaze, peering past his shoulder as Narcissa had taught her.

"I don't know, Malfoy. How do you feel about being married to me?"

"It's a means to an end."

She cringed at his blunt remark and he tightened the hand that held her waist, causing her to gasp again. Startled, she caught his eyes accidentally, and the power she found there made her shiver. Even though this was a waltz and Draco's form was faultless, he felt too close. He held her tightly, managing not only his perfect timing, but also her own, and the act of leading her around the dance floor was quickly becoming less than innocent. Ginny felt the tension building with every step. She looked up at him, wide eyed. His white blond hair fell around his face, messy but perfectly placed, and though his expression was calmly ambivalent, the tightness of his jaw and shoulders showed that he was wearing a mask, and Ginny wondered what he was concealing.

The music ended and the gathered crowd clapped politely and began another dance.

"What do you mean, 'a means to an end,' Draco?"

He smirked at her.

"You're mine to do with as I see fit, for whatever end I choose."

Ginny crinkled her eyebrows together and glared from underneath them.

"You're a cold-hearted, arrogant, little ba—"

He covered her mouth with his own and a thrill went through her again. Damned thrills. Damned kisses. Damned Draco.

"What have I told you about calling me names?"

"Like I'm going to stop because I've got a ring on my finger." She muttered.

"No, you're going to stop because I decide what you say and do. I choose where you sit, how you stand, and what you say." He leaned in and whispered, "I decide when you get to go to sleep tonight, _Ginny_. You do not want to call me nasty names."

The afternoon turned into evening and the party wore on. Ginny danced a few more times and then faded, like the daylight, into the background. Draco was immersed in conversation with the dark skinned young man who had winked at her earlier; it made sense they would be friends. She recognized Pansy Parkinson hovering nearby, probably waiting for a dance. The younger of the two blonde sisters was laughing animatedly at the conversation, and despite the fakery and nastiness that Malfoy's companions seemed to revel in, Ginny felt a stab of longing for her own friends. Once again, the pain of realizing that her wedding day was more of a funeral cut her deeply.

* * *

"Draco." Lucius pulled his son into an alcove off the hallway.

"What? I'm just meeting Zabini outside."

"The smoking habits of Mr. Zabini notwithstanding, the Dark Lord has contacted me. Are you ready?"

Draco sighed.

"Yes."

"So you've researched the spell carefully?"

"Of course. I know we discussed the Imperious, but I'm afraid that the spells could interfere. The logic is hazy, anyway. So I have to…well..."

"The old-fashioned way."

"You know I hate it."

"There is no chance that she would be complicit?"

"Very little. And it would take me far too long. The Dark Lord wants it to happen tonight?"

"Before midnight was his request."

"No, I don't think she'll be willing before midnight."

"Well, you know what you need to do."

Draco sighed and lifted his eyes heavenward.

"Yes. I do."

* * *

A House Elf led Ginny up the stairs to a grand chamber. It was furnished in ebony and draped in emerald, and Ginny found it fitting for death. The more dramatic part of her wondered if suicide was the best choice, but she decided it was too much like giving up. If this was the end of the tragedy, she'd wait for her deus ex machina.

Draco entered the room and shut the door behind him. It clicked quietly and the sound echoed in the large bedroom. He was still perfectly dressed in formal black and white, and his slightly unruly hair was the only sign that the day was ending. Ginny's curls had begun falling a few hours earlier, and the soft locks falling around her face lent her a vulnerability that did not go unnoticed.

"Come here."

She glared at him.

"Please, Ginevra, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

"What, so I should throw myself at you? You've taken everything else from me and you expect me to lay my last shred of dignity down without a battle? After all, I'm merely a means to an end."

"Trust me, Ginevra. You do not want me to take this from you like that."

The gravity of his tone made Ginny pause, but only for a moment.

"Then don't do it, Malfoy!"

"Draco."

"Malfoy."

"Fine. But I'm going to have my way. I just don't want to hurt you."

"Don't want to…?" she spluttered, "If you didn't want to hurt me then you should have thought about it a long time ago. You killed my family, Draco! You kept me against my will, tortured me, humiliated me, hurt me, and violated me. And now here we are, and you don't want to hurt me?" she breathed heavily, her face flushed pink underneath worn concealment charms. "I was right, in the library. You don't have it in you."

"Oh, I have it in me. In case you haven't noticed, little Ginny, I'm a Death Eater. I may not bear the Mark, but I have the mask. You think I can't force you to my will right now? I've done it before and I've seen it done hundreds of times more. I've seen the light in a girl's eyes dull as something deep inside of her dies. I've seen the pain, I've heard the screams, and I've felt the warm blood. I have it in me, Ginny, if you make me. The decision is yours."

Ginny's rage fell away and cracked against the fear in which she was sinking. She stood frozen as he walked up to her, his eyes unreadable. He circled her slowly, like a predator—like he had when she'd first fallen through the grate. She had been frozen then, too. Gently, he reached down and kissed her.

"Kiss me back, Gin."

Somehow, she did.

Draco's hands turned her, slowly, and went to the ribbons that held her in her gown. He eased the bow undone and slowly pulled the satin through the eye. It popped out with a loud crack and a flash of white light, and when Draco opened his eyes, she was gone.

* * *

A/N: Oh, how you must LOVE me right now!

The good news for you is that I'm more motivated to update quickly. Of course, reviews help. The amount of reviews on the last chapter was lower than normal (I think that's due to 's upgrades), so by all means, encourage me!

Much of the wedding ceremony is borrowed from a version of The Form of the Solemnization of Matrimony from 1662 (Anglican Wedding Ceremony).

Also, please read my story, Secret Revenge Doodles, and then go vote for it in Rowan Greenleaf's "Ginny Draws Draco" challenge! All of the info is on Rowan's profile. I'd give you a link but hates me.


	12. Chapter 12

Ginny blinked slowly. Her breath came out in ragged gasps as she clutched her arms around her waist, trying to calm her pounding heart. She felt as though she had been stabbed in the chest, and her blood was cold with shock. She crumbled to her knees, her wedding gown spreading in a circle around her, glowing in the moonlight.

Moonlight. She was outside. In a forest. Peering down through the leaves on the trees was a full moon. Ginny took a deep breath and tried to remember what had happened.

Draco had threatened her. She could still see the hard edge in his eye and hear the steel in his voice. He had threatened her, but he hadn't really wanted to hurt her. He was just using her for his damned spell, using her as if she was irrelevant. Fucking Slytherins.

But he had scared her. She had kissed him obediently when he told her to, and unlike the kiss at the altar, this one had been _involved_. She could still taste the sweetness of his tongue and feel it softly probing the curve of her lip. She bit it involuntarily, and wrapped her arms still tighter around her waist.

He had turned her toward the mirror then, and Ginny saw a beautiful bride with flushed cheeks and loose curls, and behind her an impossibly handsome groom with cool gray eyes. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, an action which appeared to be a loving gesture in the mirror, but all Ginny felt was a loss of control. The groom in the mirror kissed his bride's neck gently, and Ginny shivered involuntarily. His eyes had been cold and unfeeling, unforgivably so, and she realized that not only would she forever mourn the loss of having a happy wedding, but also of having a tender, loving wedding night.

Then everything had gone black, and now she was here, wherever here was.

Ginny sighed. Her memories didn't provide any clues as to her location, or why she was there. Hesitantly, she began to walk. The undergrowth caught at her gown, tearing the beading away, but to stay still in a dark forest seemed like less and less of a good idea.

Malfoy had tracked her down last time she had run away in a matter of hours, and even if she hadn't run away on purpose this time, he'd still be livid. Unless, of course, spiriting her to another location was part of Voldemort's plan. Either way, sitting in a dark wood didn't seem like the best option. If she was indeed free, she needed to find help, and if this was (still)? another trap, she needed to run.

After only a few minutes of walking, she came to a clearing, and Ginny's heart leapt, for on the other side of the small meadow sat a very familiar cottage, warmly lit.

* * *

"What do you mean, 'she's gone?'" Lucius asked stonily.

"I've no idea. I was beginning to take off her gown when I heard the loud crack and a flash of light. I don't think it was Apparition or a Portkey, but she is undeniably gone."

Lucius sighed and frowned pensively.

"There are two possibilities here. One, the girl's friends found a way to rescue her. Have we checked in on the mudblood?"

"In the past ten minutes?" Draco snorted, "No. You think my bride vanishes with a bang and my first thought is 'damn, better check in on the mudblood?' I was in a bit of shock, Father."

"Fine. But if it is those phoenix-loving bandits, we need to make sure she's secure."

Draco took a few steps in front of the fireplace, which was glowing with the end of the day's coal. He absentmindedly held a hand over the flames, warming it, and then held it to his cheek. Lucius watched him, lips tight, and poured himself a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter.

"The other possibility, Draco, is that someone has betrayed us."

Draco looked up at Lucius quickly, his eyes sharp.

"That's impossible. Mother is the only one who knows the entire plan. All the others are expendable—even Zabini doesn't know the end game."

"Are you sure you never let it slip? To Zabini? Or perhaps Greengrass?"

Draco shook his head and white blond strands fell onto his brow. He combed them back with impatient fingers and turned back to the fire.

"No. No one but mother knows how the Weasley girl fits into the scheme. I suppose one might guess her importance, but the Dark Lord himself would have had to betray the secret."

Lucius took a slow drink and cocked an eyebrow at his son.

"Well then, someone ought to look in on the little mudblood."

Draco nodded absentmindedly, his jaw hard.

"Fine, but what the fuck are we going to tell the Dark Lord? In his current state news like this could encourage him to choose a different heir, and I don't think I need to remind you that this would set us back months."

Lucius drew in a tight breath.

"We'll tell him nothing. You have the Invenio charm on the girl, so you can begin tracking her at once. If you don't find her by dawn, alert me. I'll take care of things."

Draco looked at his father carefully, silver eyes penetrating grey.

"Do you mean…that is, you'll follow the original plan?"

"I can see no other choice," said Lucius somberly.

Draco leaned in on the mantle and the light from the flames played along the hard angular lines of his face. His mask was carefully in place, but Lucius knew his son well.

"Don't worry, my son. The Dark Lord is weaker than we calculated before, and carrying out our original plan might be less desirable, but it will be straightforward."

"Straightforward but terribly risky."

"Yes, but you will find Ginevra. Even if it is, well, too late," he frowned, "she'll still be an excellent pawn. Public image and all that. Go. I'll tell the world that you're honeymooning at an undisclosed location for an indefinite amount of time, and I'll throw money at a few resorts for show."

Draco nodded resolutely and traced his wand through the air, touching it against his wrist.

"Invenio Ginevra." He muttered, and Apparated away.

* * *

Ginny took a breath, smoothed her hands over her tattered dress, and knocked firmly on the door of the small cottage.

No one answered.

"Hello?" she whispered tentatively, "er, bonjour?"

The door creaked open and sure enough there was the elder Madame Tallieur. Her eyes shone like black currants in the starlight, and with a crooked smile and wizened finger, she welcomed Ginny in and gestured to a chair—the same chair Ginny had tripped over just a few weeks prior.

The older women poured Ginny a cup of tea with a wobbly hand and passed it to her. The cup teetered on the saucer, clinking gently as Ginny accepted it. She sipped the tea slowly—it was quite hot—and watched as the woman fumbled around in her knitting basket. She cackled quietly to herself and held up her wand. She gestured that Ginny should stand, and Ginny obediently set down her cup and stood. The wedding dress was cumbersome, especially now that it was tattered, and Ginny nearly tripped on the rocker again.

The older woman muttered something under her breath and transfigured the gown into a simple black turtleneck, knee length black skirt, and beautiful dragon hide boots. The clothes were stylish but practical, and Ginny offered thanks, which were dismissed with an absent wave of the wand.

Madame Tallieur walked right up to Ginny, until the younger woman could count the wrinkles in the corners of the older woman's eyes. Madame searched Ginny's eyes carefully, then lifted her chin and examined her neck. Ginny was baffled. The woman stepped backward, her lips pursed. Then, as though seized by an idea, she grabbed Ginny's hands and turned them over, palm up.

"Ah, Invenio," she muttered. She turned with haste to retrieve her wand and Ginny stared at her arms. They looked perfectly normal. She could see the blue veins under her pale skin, and fine red hairs and a few freckles sprinkled across like cinnamon.

The woman approached Ginny with her wand and tapped it on her right wrist, then drew a small circle. To Ginny's horror, the Malfoy crest shone like white fire on the inside of her arm, and a sudden recollection of Malfoy performing the charm weeks ago flashed before her eyes. Doubtless, this was how he had discovered her so quickly the last time she had escaped.

Suddenly the tentative joy that Ginny had allowed herself upon discovering her freedom snapped tight, replaced by a growing panic. She doubted that the Malfoys were benevolent enough to spare the life of her benefactor, and Ginny had virtually no knowledge of how tracking charms operated. The best strategy was probably to run and at least spare the old woman.

She tried to bolt by dodging past the little French woman and instead fell flat on her face. Madame cackled as Ginny stood slowly, kicking the rocker that was so bent on humiliating her. The woman shook her head and beckoned to Ginny. She slid the younger girl's sleeve up to her elbow and muttered a few phrases in an unfamiliar language. The Malfoy crest glowed brightly, and Ginny could feel the magic burning in her arm. The heat came in short waves, running up her arm and into her chest. They ebbed slowly and the crest faded to black, then to the pink of burned skin, and finally to nothing. Ginny examined her arm again carefully, interrupted by the older woman once again handing her a tottery cup of tea.

"Avez-vous jamais été à Beauxbatons?"

* * *

"Hello love."

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, praying this was just a dream. Her captors rarely bothered her in the middle of the night unless they were drunk out of their minds, and nightmares were a better alternative than _that_.

"Just checking on you, my dear. Plans have hit a nasty bump and we wanted to make sure that you were all right." He sounded awfully chipper for a Death Eater awake after midnight, but he didn't sound drunk, and Hermione let herself look up at him.

"What do you mean, a nasty bump?" she questioned tentatively.

"Afraid that's all I can say," he announced genially.

"But it has something to do with me?" she tried to sound unconcerned.

"You're the brilliant little mudblood. What do you think?" he smirked.

"I…" she paused, pondering the intent of his question, "I don't care."

"Miss Inquisitive no longer cares? I think I had you pegged incorrectly, Granger. We'll have to do something about that."

Hermione stared at him, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"I need you to care, Granger. I need you to care a lot."

"I don't understand," she whispered slowly, searching his face for clues.

He smiled, a touch of sarcasm glinting in his eye.

"You'll find out eventually. In the meantime, you're here and that's all I needed to know. Sweet dreams, love."

Utterly confused, she watched his retreating back until it disappeared.

* * *

"Beauxbatons?"

The woman frowned and walked over to the fireplace. She threw a tight fistful of Floo powder into the crackling flames, which promptly turned green.

"Olympe!" she called, "Êtes-vous là?"

Ginny looked up in shock. She vaguely remembered that Olympe was the given name of the headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy, but hadn't seen the woman since the Tri-Wizard Tournament back in her third year.

She was shocked to see the now-gray haired woman appear in the flames. Madame said something in rapid French and gestured at Ginny with a shaky but determined hand. Olympe's eyes widened at the sight of the young red-haired witch, and she disappeared, only to reappear in a moment and step out of the grate.

"My dear Miss Weasley! 'Ou must understand, we 'ave been so much worried about 'ou. Come, come. We go to Beauxbatons at once. You remember me, non?"

Ginny felt like she had been sucked into a whirlwind, and she wasn't at all certain what she'd find in the eye of the storm. Still, Madame Maxime took her arm and heaved her up. The half-giantess positively towered over the lilliputian Madame Talliuer, and Ginny marveled at how carefully she had to maneuver to fit through the small cottage fireplace.

"We must Floo together, ma cher. The academy is Unplottable and the wards will not let you through unaccompanied."

Placing her hand inside Madame Maxime's much larger one, Ginny felt herself begin to whirl away. As the older woman faded away, Ginny called out,

"Merci!"

They passed grate after grate, moving rapidly through the French Floo network. When the spinning finally stopped, Ginny stepped out of an outrageously large fireplace into a powder blue receiving room.

"Come, ma chere," said Madame Maxime, very matter-of-factly.

Ginny followed the tall woman through the halls, noting that with the high ceilings and light colored walls, the larger woman's size was not as noticeable as it had been in the cramped, dark passages of Hogwarts.

The academy was stunningly beautiful. As Ginny traipsed after the headmistress, she stared openly at the surroundings. Huge windows revealed a lovely park, with abundant flowering gardens, magnificent fountains, and even bright blue peacocks sauntering about the flagstone paths. Inside, the building was airy and bright, with floor to ceiling windows illuminating the rooms and tall mirrors spreading the rising sun's glow in all directions. It seemed like every surface was gilded, and Ginny was dazzled. She couldn't help but compare the bright opulence with the heavy ancient stone of Hogwarts, and she had a hard time believing that this was a school. It seemed more like a palace.

Madame Maxime stopped in front of a large set of white paneled French doors, muttered what Ginny guessed was a password, and pushed the doors open to what appeared to be her private office. She seated herself behind a gargantuan desk and gestured at Ginny to be seated opposite her.

"We are on ze summer holiday, no? All of Beauxbatons is quiet, and then my dear old friend la Madame tells me she has discovered ze missing Weasley girl. 'Ou can imagine my surprise, non?"

She tapped her wand neatly—a different movement from Flitwick's merry swish and flick—and two porcelain cups appeared, filled with what appeared to be hot tea. Ginny was beginning to think that she had drank quite enough tea for one night and would really prefer a solid breakfast, but she accepted the cup politely.

"So, ma chere. We had created zees little plan, you see? And here you are, now. Safe. Now, 'ou must—"

She was cut off by a quiet knock at the door.

"Entre!" called Madame Maxime, smiling.

The door swung open slowly, and Ginny turned in her chair, craning her neck to see the guest. She saw a halo of blonde hair surrounding a gorgeous face—and behind it, a shock of hair that equaled her own in color.

"Bill!" she cried, knocking over her chair and upsetting her tea, spilling it on the rug in her hurry to get to her brother.

"Aw, Gin-bug." He engulfed her in a massive hug, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her shoulders. She buried her face into his chest, enjoying the familiarity and the warmth that she'd craved and mourned for so many weeks. He loosened his hold but she hugged him all the tighter, and when she finally looked up at him, she saw eyes that matched her own, sparkling with tears.

"We thought we'd lost you, Gin. And then we saw The Daily Prophet, with the announcement about you marrying that spawn of Satan. I can't," he choked, "well, there's someone else who wants to see you. Maybe he can tell you."

Through her tears, Ginny saw another tall red head. She blinked.

"Charlie!"

She ran to him and claimed another terribly wonderful embrace. Pulling back from him suddenly, she searched his eyes.

"But…you were in the house. Aren't you…aren't you dead?"

He shook his head slowly, and a sad smile crept onto his face. Ginny noticed a long scar running from his temple down his neck, disappearing under his collar. Judging by the brightness of the pink color, it wasn't very old.

"Nope. I'm quite alive, princess."

"Well…then…" Ginny looked hopefully from brother to brother, "did, er, did anyone else…"

Bill and Charlie exchanged a long glance.

"No," Bill furrowed his eyebrows and drew Ginny close, "I arrived around dawn. By then the Death Eaters had gone. The Burrow was a mess—they'd set the roof on fire and all—and it was a miracle that it didn't burn to ash. Those charms mum was always adjusting must've held fast till the end. Anyway, I, er, found everyone but you and Charlie. They were all gone, Gin-bug. At first I hoped that you and Charlie had escaped together, but—"

"But he found me in the garden," Charlie cut in with a sad smile, "I'd managed to get the back door open, you see. I was heading to the Apparition point to get help when one of those beasts hit me with a particularly wicked Sectumsempra to the neck, then left me for dead."

Charlie absently traced the scar from his jaw to his collarbone and back.

"Yeah, so I found Charlie and thought he was gone too. He was a bloody mess, that's for certain. As soon as I realized he was breathing I summoned Fleur. She's been studying to be a Healer for the past few months."

"Oui," Fleur nodded, her blue eyes bright, "Zees banking business ees not for me."

"That's right. So she was able to patch him up enough to get him over to St. Galen's—that's the hospital here in France, since I wasn't sure if we could trust St. Mungo's. Once I knew Charlie was going to pull through, I headed back to The Burrow to find you, but with no luck. That's when I went to check in on Harry, and, well…"

"I know. I flooed over to Harry's and they'd already, you know, been there."

Ginny felt sick. That entire night had been a trip to the darkest levels of hell, and remembering Harry's body lying on the floor of his room brought stinging tears to her eyes.

"Yeah, that's how I started looking for you. I could trace your floo from The Burrow to Harry's, but after that the trail disappeared. It didn't make sense, so I assumed that they'd left a man behind and he'd picked you up when you stumbled into Harry's flat."

Bill looked at Ginny carefully, his amber eyes searching her brandy ones to see if his hypothesis was correct.

"No, that's not what happened at all," Ginny said evenly, but she could feel her heart thumping. Just remembering that awful night made her want to vomit.

"So, you walked out of Harry's flat?"

"No! I flooed out, directly to Hermione's. Then from there I flooed to Diagon Alley."

Bill looked quizzically at Ginny.

"Are you sure you're remembering all of that clearly? Because I did a thorough check on the floo networks at any place I thought you might've gone. I used my Gringotts clearance and pulled out all of the stops. There was nothing."

"Well, Malfoy told me that he got control of the network that morning. He probably managed to erase it or something."

Ginny realized that all four of her rescuers were staring at her, open mouthed.

"Ginny…that's impossible," said Charlie slowly.

"Well, that's what he said. And I remember what happened," Ginny snapped, "I had days and days to cement every moment into my mind. I flooed to Hermione but the Death Eaters had taken her—I've seen her; she's locked up in a dungeon—so I went to Diagon Alley. I got a wand from Ollivander and he told me to floo to Hogwarts. He even had a special password for me. Albus, I think," she paused, "yes. Albus. So I tried to floo to Hogwarts and ended up at the Malfoy's manor. I tried to floo back out, but it didn't work. Draco told me that he'd gained control of the floo network and I couldn't go anywhere."

"Wait. You saw Ollivander? After the attacks?"

Ginny nodded at Charlie. Bill, she noticed, was white knuckling his wand.

"Ginny. No one has seen or heard from Ollivander since before Easter."

Ginny stared hard at Charlie, and then shifted her gaze to Bill, who had his other hand clamped onto Fleur's shoulder. The beautiful woman appeared to be holding her breath.

"But…it was Ollivander. He knew my wand," she choked, "he knew me."

Bill and Charlie exchanged another hard look.

"Wands," said Charlie stiffly. "Wands and transportation."

"Good God," breathed Bill. "And we thought they were just after the bank."

Ginny looked from brother to brother, and then to fair Fleur and giant Olympe. After her ordeal in Malfoy Manor, she was thoroughly tired of being kept out of the loop. Contrary to what everyone had told her, these secrets did nothing to keep her safe, and she was determined to change that. She drew herself up to her full height, set her jaw, and demanded,

"Would someone please explain what in hell is going on?"

* * *

"Fuck it to bloody hell."

Draco's dragon hide boots made barely any noise in the darkness of the forest, but the birds were beginning to wake up and he couldn't stop the advent of the dawn, no matter how much darkness powder his galleons could buy. Sighing heavily, Draco swept a few unruly locks of hair away from his eyes and leaned against the trunk of a tall oak.

This was not how he had imagined spending his wedding night.

Well, breaking Ginevra Weasley wasn't how he had imagined it either, but he kept shoving that thought aside. He wasn't supposed to be glad that she'd disappeared, no matter how much he had dreaded that moment. The moment when she would crumble beneath him. The moment when that fire would die.

Draco pushed those images out of his mind with a scowl. Whatever the end result, he needed to find the bloody girl. His damned bloody wife.

He pulled his wand from its sheath for the hundredth time that night and muttered the Invenio charm _again_. The mark on his own arm grew white hot, then faded just as quickly. He yelled in frustration.

She'd gotten rid of it. There was no other plausible explanation. Whether it was her stupid Potter-loving friends or some cursed back-stabbing Death Eater, she or they had removed the trace.

Draco contained another roar and slowly turned, catching the morning light in his white blond hair. With intense calm and precision, he fired a Reducto curse at the largest tree in sight, and Apparated away before the melee of woodchips fell.

Lucius was still in his study, but it was easily obvious to Draco that several hours had passed. His father was still the picture of dignity, but the decanter of brandy was noticeably empty, gleaming in the dawn light.

"So, she has vanished?"

Draco nodded slowly, finally allowing the tension of the last few hours to ease into his bones. Suddenly he was impossibly tired.

"I think she—or whoever has her—has managed to remove the Invenio."

Lucius set his mouth firmly in a line and looked down austerely at his desk, eyes focused but vacant in contemplation. Draco sank onto a black leather chair in front of the fire and warmed his aching muscles in the heat of the dying embers. The two sat for a long moment, each locked in the darkest of contemplation, until Lucius stood up suddenly, knocking his son from his reverie.

"Keep looking for her. If this goes badly, you'll need her as an alibi. If it goes well, you'll need her all the more."

Draco stood and watched his father tie on a black cloak and slip on a Death Eater mask for the thousandth time.

"You'll be back as soon as it is finished?"

"I'll send you a message."

Father and son stared at one another for a hard moment, steel gray on ice. Lucius unsheathed his wand and Apparated without another word. Draco turned back to the fire and took out his own stick of hawthorn. He flipped it absently with one hand and watched the coals fade from red to black.

If this went badly, he would make absolutely certain that the fiery heart of Ginny Weasley—Malfoy—was completely snuffed out.

* * *

A/N: After that last cliff, I thought I'd give you a break. Poor, tired arm muscles can only take so much hanging.

As promised, an update before Christmas! The next few weeks will be busy, but...I'm taking a trip down south to visit the in-laws and will doubtless have countless hours to spend hiding from them in a guest room with naught but the trusty notebook to keep me company.

Reviewers: You are the best. I'm always so encouraged by you! Make my day and push that little button--it takes two seconds and you don't need to log in to do so! While you're at it, why not take a stab at who Hermione's mysterious tormentor is? So far Snape and Draco have been suggested...

**AND(!)** I have another one shot up for the DG Christmas Challenge by fic-princess from **RowanGreenleaf's DG Forum** called **_Vanilla and Peppermint_**. Read and review--and then come say hi on the forum!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I'm back. It's been a long three months, and this offering feels sub-par, but after the PMs asking if I had died and the members of The DG Forum hounding me endlessly, I overcame the writer's block. Keep pestering me; the guilt does wonders for my muse.

**Warnings:** Blood, Character Death

* * *

Ginny speared the filet of salmon viciously, glaring at each of her brothers as though she was observing a tennis game and fiercely hoping that both players would lose.

"So?" she interjected into the silence, "You told me to wait until dinner. It's dinner. What in the hell is going on?"

Charlie glanced at Bill, who covered his wife's hand protectively and cleared his throat.

"We've been noticing some...well, some patterns. What you told us this morning is confirming that."

"Your diplomat-banker skills are not going to work on me, Bill. I just went through hell and I deserve a real answer." Ginny shot back, staring hard at her brother and simultaneously forking the fish into her mouth. Narcissa would have hives if she were present to witness her behavior, she thought smugly.

Charlie sighed and set his fork down.

"We think that Lucius Malfoy is behind the Dark Lord's efforts to seal his control over the Wizarding World. We think he's trying to do more than raid and pillage; Bill's noticed some disturbing trends at Gringotts that seem to point to Malfoy."

"Why in the blazes would that seal his control over the entire world? It's a bank,"

Ginny said as she cut another piece of fish and speared it. Fleur looked ready to reproach her for her horrible manners, but Ginny gave her a withering look. After finally escaping Narcissa's watchful, pretentious eye, she'd rip the meat off the bones with bared teeth before she ate with decorum. The original shock of her rescue had been replaced with weepy relief, but now, hours later, she was feeling rather rebellious.

"No," Bill answered, "it's not the bank, though that's a large part of it. It's banking, investments, commodities, all of it. Someone with a lot of money and a lot of expertise has been carefully manipulating the system—perhaps for years. The economy is in a bad way already, and economics can have more impact on people than terror raids. Shaky money situations make people act out of fear more than a random Dark Mark splashed on the cover of the Daily Prophet ever could. And fear, if properly manipulated, equals control."

Ginny pondered this idea for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. She helped herself to another roll and slowly began to butter it.

"Okay, but what about the other things? The wands and transportation?"

Bill opened his mouth, but Charlie interrupted him.

"We're not sure. But if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is behind Ollivander's disappearance and subsequent reappearance to you and you alone, and also orchestrated your unplanned trip to Malfoy Manor, it leads us to think that perhaps the economy is not the only thing those scheming bastards are trying to overthrow. Take the mysterious stabilization of the Ministry of Magic after the Potter Riots, for example. I bet more than a few of those 'emergency' Wizengamot appointees are in the pocket of a Death Eater."

Ginny bit into her roll. "Wait," she said, butter dripping down her chin, "You're wrong. Voldemort can't be behind this."

Three puzzled faces gazed at her, questioningly.

"Voldemort is decrepit—literally falling apart. Whenever he made a decision about me, it was at Lucius's prompting. He wanted to give me to the Death Eaters, and Lucius talked him out of it."

At the mention of the Death Eaters, the table went silent. Fleur's eyes glistened with tears and Charlie began slicing his filet with vigor that resembled his sister's previous attack on her own dinner. Bill reached across the table and grabbed Ginny's less buttery hand.

"Gin," he said, squeezing her hand tightly, "I still can't forgive myself for not doing more to get you out of there. If they'd—well, I couldn't live with myself."

Ginny gave him a weak smile.

"You had no idea where I was. I survived, and they never really hurt me."

She swallowed. Her brothers had grilled her exhaustively, demanding to know if she had been touched or harmed in any way, and while she'd been truthful, she hadn't told them about either of Malfoy's "lessons." Once her brothers were satisfied that she hadn't been raped or tortured, they had eased up and stopped interrogating her. Still, she felt guilty for keeping that from them.

"Besides," she continued, desperate to talk about something else "you missed my point. That creepy bastard—Malfoy, not Voldemort—is up to something."

* * *

Draco stood on the veranda of the Italian villa, watching the sunrise. If he had to pretend to be on honeymoon, he reasoned, he would do it right. As the gentle morning rays of light began to uncurl and stretch over the vineyards, he heard a gentle knock on the doorframe and glanced behind him.

"Good morning, Blaise. Your shirt is bloody," he stated, turning back to the dawn.

Blaise glanced ruefully at his sleeves and quickly whipped out his wand to clean them.

"Your culprit isn't a Death Eater, Draco. They're all clean." He laid an invisibility cloak over the rail of the balcony and leaned over it, bracing his forearms against the hard marble and staring into the sunshine. He took a deep breath, taking in the cool, sweet air.

"You're certain?" Draco said sharply. "They're all clean?"

"Quite. And before you ask, none of them have any idea that she's gone."

"And the blood?"

"Oh, that's from something else entirely." Blaise smirked, and Draco raised his eyebrows and changed the subject.

"Has my father—you know—have you spoken to him?"

"No. No one I talked to has seen him since you did, night before last."

Draco straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. The sun played with the blond strands and they gleamed as the morning light filtered through them.

"Merlin, Draco. Did you sleep at all last night?" Blaise said, taking in Draco's unkempt appearance. His black trousers were wrinkled and his shirt hung unbuttoned, leaving his chest glowing in the sunrise, sharply contrasting with the black fabric that framed it.

"Yes, I did." Draco said proudly, then smirked ruefully. "At least, I think I did. A little."

Blaise smiled.

"So, we need to find your little bride, hm?"

"The Mudblood knows nothing?"

Blaise's smile faded. "Granger? No. She hasn't a clue."

Draco nodded and drew a sharp breath. "Blaise, I know you were probably more than a little shocked when I told you everything yesterday. I just…I want you to know…"

Blaise shook his head. "I'm not offended that you kept it from me, mate. I'd follow you to the end of the earth, and I wholeheartedly approve of what your father is doing. I was never sold out to Voldemort. You know that."

Draco sighed. "Yeah. I just wanted to make sure that things were good."

Blaise glanced sidelong at Draco and flicked open a cigarette case. He lit one and took a long drag as the two young men stared at the brightening morning.

"They're good. They'd be better if we knew where Weasley—sorry, Mrs. Malfoy—was."

Draco turned sharply and faced the villa, leaning back on the railing with his elbows.

"France. Last time I found her, she was in France...and her brother married a French girl. The one from the Triwizard Tournament. Remember her?"

Blaise smirked. "Oh, do I. Fleur Delacour. How'd a hot little piece like that end up with a Weasley?"

Draco snorted. "I have no idea…but I say we pay the Delacour family a little visit."

"Aren't they in hiding?" Blaise questioned, taking another drag.

"Aren't we all?" said Draco sardonically, buttoning his shirt. "Let's go."

"Can't a man get breakfast first?" Blaise joked as he followed Draco through the double doors into the sweeping master suite of the villa. The bed, Blaise noted, was untouched.

"Roosy!" Draco yelled, performing a dewrinkling charm on his clothes. The small House Elf snapped into the room loudly. "There you are. Pack Master Blaise and myself some breakfast. _Fette biscottate_ and some strong coffee.

The elf was back by the time Draco had charmed his hair to fall in neat disarray. Blaise took a sip of his coffee.

"So, where to?"

"That's easy. We'll start at St. Galen's."

He pulled out his wand and Apparated with a light pop. Blaise tossed his empty cup on the table and followed suit.

* * *

Lucius Apparated into his study at almost the exact same time. The girl had been gone for two full days now, and he'd been putting off the inevitable in the hope that Draco would find her. But the news from Italy was not good; the young Zabini that his son confided in had spent the last two days performing a rather thorough investigation of the Death Eater homes, and hadn't found a thing.

During that time, Lucius himself had paid a visit to Bellatrix to see if she knew anything about Ginevra's disappearance. He shuddered at the memory. His sister-in-law had spent the entire meeting staring at the Dark Mark on her own arm and fondling it lovingly. She was far too insane to be involved in anything remotely resembling subterfuge. Lucius sighed over the loss of her sanity; he had once respected Bellatrix's ambition and cunning.

He added a dose of brandy to the steaming mug of coffee the House Elf had placed on his desk, thankful for the small, daily regularities. Stirring the beverage absently, he flicked his eyes over the Daily Prophet, which sat next to the coffee as usual. There was nothing of value in the headlines, but still Lucius' eyes prowled through the paper, knowing full well that the nasty little details on page eight could turn into the shattering events on page one if fed and watered with care.

There was nothing truly useful, and Lucius sighed. He was avoiding the task at hand and there was no more room to do that. He needed to act.

The powerful man stood and stalked to Draco's study, his footfalls light in the parquet hallway. The door to his son's room was slightly ajar, and Lucius entered brazenly, determined to hide his apprehension even from himself.

He moved to his son's desk and broke the charm that locked the drawer in place. He scanned the pigeonholes and then slid open the shallow center drawer. There, lying on a square of green velvet, were two wands, one of ash and another of birch. He locked the drawer again and placed all the charms back around the desk, then slipped out of the room.

Back in his own study, Lucius pulled a scroll from his own desk and then retrieved the shortest wand and examined it. It was just slightly springy, and he smirked before Apparating to Lord Voldemort's chamber.

The inhuman wizard lay in bed, his wand resting on his nightstand. He snored lightly and Lucius curled his nose up in disgust.

"My Lord," Lucius said, prodding the dying man with the tip of his wand, "My Lord."

Voldemort woke with a snort and narrowed his eyes at Lucius.

"What are you doing here, unsummoned?" he hissed.

"My Lord, I have the writ of inheritance. You only need to sign and the succession of your empire is guaranteed." Lucius unfurled the scroll, which shimmered with the subtle glow of a magical contract.

"Nonsense, Lucius. Where is your son? Did he complete the _sang primoris_?" the Dark Lord rasped.

"Draco is enjoying his lovely little bride, My Lord." Lucius said, inclining his head with a slight nod.

"I will guarantee him nothing until he steps into my presence and takes my mark." growled Voldemort, glaring fiercely, his eyes narrowing into gouged slits in his grey head.

Lucius was unfazed. He slipped the birch wand from his pocket.

"_Accio wand_!" he hissed, catching the thin yew stick as it flew from the nightstand before the older wizard could reach it. "Are you sure you won't reconsider, old man?" Lucius whispered with a tight smile.

"Very sure." Voldemort cackled, "you forget my skills as a Legilimens show me that you are too loyal to follow through on any threat."

"Oh, am I?" said Lucius darkly, his agate-grey eyes fierce and open as he dropped the careful layer of false truths, allowing Voldemort to see a few choice thoughts.

For years, Lucius had slowly built up the cranial façade of a simpering, loyal fool of a man. He had indulged the Dark Lord's fantasies about his undying service. It was almost as if the foul being wanted to convert all the cunning Slytherin minds that served him into docile obedient Hufflepuffs, Lucius thought bitterly, showing Voldemort every patronizing thought—all the arrogance, insurgence, and even pity that his mind contained.

"Using Draco, I will build your shabby rabble into an empire beyond what your vengeance-poisoned brain could imagine. You might be a descendant of Salazar, but by his name, you are nothing," Lucius hissed, stabbing the birch wand into Voldemort's throat.

"I won't reward a traitor, Lucius," rasped Voldemort.

"_Crucio_!" Lucius cried, pouring years of frustration, loathing, and hatred into the curse. He watched in disgust as the decrepit man writhed in agony before he released him.

"Will you change your mind?"

Voldemort shook his head and sneered.

"_Crucio_!"

The wizard formerly known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named began to come apart at the seams. Blood oozed out of his nose and ears, and yet when Lucius released him again and held a quill out to him, he spat on it.

"Well, My Lord," Lucius said slowly, as though he was talking to a child, "If that is your opinion, I suppose I'll have to go with my alternate plan." He leaned down and whispered, "_Your_ reign is over either way. _Avada Kedavra_!"

The bolt of green light hit the Dark Lord's chest firmly, and Voldemort fell back onto the blood-stained sheets, his eyes staring in death.

Lucius looked down on the body of Tom Riddle with a sneer, and then he dropped the wand and let it roll under the bed. He pulled the ash wand from his cloak and Apparated back home.

He had lunch plans with Narcissa.

* * *

Ginny leaned out over the railing of a marble balcony at Beauxbatons and watched the sun dip over the horizon. She breathed in the cool night air and felt a sense of immense peace wash over her. The last sunset she had seen, two nights ago, had felt as if it had been signifying her death. This one felt hopeful, for she knew it would be followed by a velvety warm night complete with stars and a bright moon, and she let the peace enfold her.

Charlie stepped next to her and gave a low whistle.

"Have you ever seen a prettier sunset?"

Ginny shook her head. The two stood there in silence for a few long moments, comfortable in each other's presence. A peacock screeched and Charlie chuckled quietly.

"I'll never understand the attraction of having peacocks roam around a perfectly nice garden."

Ginny groaned, thinking of Malfoy Manor's pretentious white birds. "Tell me about it."

"Well, okay, they have the most annoying cry and they crap everywhere." Ginny punched him in the arm and he laughed. "Give me dragons any day."

Ginny laughed and sighed. It felt so good to be with people she loved again.

"Say, Gin, Bill and I were talking. We think that it might be possible for Malfoy to trace you here, and he does have connections in France. That is, if you think he's going to try to get you back."

Ginny stiffened against the railing. A sleepy breeze blew across the purpling sky and ruffled her hair as she turned, brown eyes wide, and stared at Charlie.

"You're going to put me in hiding again, aren't you?"

"Only to keep you safe, Ginny. We're thinking Muggle London. Kingsley's family."

Ginny felt her stomach begin to melt. "But…but you and Bill…"

"I know, Gin-Gin." Charlie wrapped an arm around her and was silent for a moment before continuing, "but we'd rather know you were safe and sound and far away than worry every second about you falling into the hands of those monsters—especially in the light of what you told us last night."

Ginny put her head in her hands and frowned into the sunset.

"I'd rather do something useful for once, Charlie. I feel like I've been locked away my entire life."

"If I promise to write twice a week and find something for you to do, will you do it?"

Ginny looked up into her closest brother's pleading brown eyes and smiled sadly.

"Muggle London, huh? Maybe I can finally figure out what rubber duckies are for."

Charlie clapped her on the back. "That's my girl," he said, pulling her in for a hug.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm aware that there is no D/G in this entire chapter (it was exceedingly hard to not write it in!). Stay tuned. I'm just getting started...muahahaaa.

Don't forget to review!


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: As promised...

* * *

"Ginny Weasley! Oh, my dear, it is good to see you alive and well," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, shaking her hand warmly.

Ginny smiled and thanked him, glancing at Charlie. Her brother nodded encouragingly, pushing her through the doorway and into the small living room of the Muggle flat. The room was cozy and bright, and other than a small box in one corner that was displaying moving images—Ginny was fairly certain this was a tee-lee—it didn't feel much different than home.

"Ginny," Charlie began, "this is Adela Shacklebolt, Kingsley's sister, and her son, Devon. You'll be staying here with them."

"Hello," said Ginny shyly, shaking the hand of the comfortable looking woman. Her son, who was waving an object in front of the tee-lee, appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen.

"Such a pleasure to have you with us, Ginny," said Adela. "My brother told me a bit about what you've been through, and we are so glad to have you here, safe. Aren't we, Devon?" The boy glanced at Ginny and nodded with a smile before turning back to the screen. "You'll have to excuse him," apologized his mother. "He's turning into quite the video game addict, and since he can't play them at Hogwarts I'm afraid I spoil him over the holiday."

Ginny stared for a moment. "He's at Hogwarts? I mean, I didn't think that…" she babbled, blushing.

"Oh, honey, don't worry. I'm not offended in the slightest. Devon is a wizard, like his uncle. I'm the Muggle in the house, and we thought Devon was too, until he got his Hogwarts letter," Adela said, smiling at her son. "Would you like the grand tour?"

Ginny glanced again at Charlie, who smiled reassuringly. "Okay," she replied, and followed Adela into the kitchen.

The small flat held a whirlwind of new discoveries for Ginny. The things these Muggles did to make up for their lack of magic were truly ingenious, and Ginny was convinced that the micro-waver had to use _some_ sort of magic in order to heat food so quickly.

"And this will be your room," Adela said, finishing the tour of the small flat with a sweep of her arm. "I know it's a lot to take in, dear. I'll leave you alone for a moment—and I'll tell your brother to bring your things in here."

Ginny smiled gratefully and sank on to the single bed. The room was small, but it had a sunny window with cheery yellow curtains that smiled down at her, bathing her skin in gentle, golden light. She closed her eyes and let the warmth sink in, knowing that, however odd it would be to live with strangers, she was thankful to have a space of her own once again.

She heard a knock on the open door and blinked.

"Hey Gin-gin," Charlie said, lifting two large shopping bags, "Here's the clothes and things we picked up for you earlier. I hope you like them—Bill swears that Fleur has good taste, but I don't know if it's _your_ taste. If we forgot anything, Adela has promised to take you shopping as well, so you'll get to see how Muggles buy clothes. That'll be fun, hm?" He paused and looked at Ginny, who had tucked her knees under her chin, staring at him with big, teary eyes. "Aww, Gin. Don't look at me like that."

Ginny bit her lip and blinked. "I just…I feel so alone, Charlie. Adela seems nice, and you and Bill and Fleur have been wonderful, but…" she swallowed back a little sob.

"Hey…" Charlie said, wrapping his arms around her, "Don't cry, Gin. I promised to write, didn't I? Bill too. We're going to do our best to get to the bottom of this whole thing and make sure that the Malfoys don't have another chance to hurt you, and then this will all be over."

"Why can't I stay in France, with you?" Ginny said, and cringed internally at how whiney she sounded.

"We're leaving Beauxbatons as well. We can't be there once the school term starts next week, and it's a bit out-of-the-way for most of the operations we're conducting. I can't tell you where we'll be, but it'll be nearer, if that's any comfort to you."

Ginny sniffled. "Okay. But you're going to find something for me to do in the meantime, right? Like you said?"

"Of course, silly," Charlie said, ruffling her hair. "What kind of good-for-nothing brother do you think I am?"

* * *

Draco and Blaise stood on the doorstep of the large French cottage that the Delacour family called home, according to the rather un-professional young receptionist at St. Galen's Hospital for Magical Medicine. The two cut imposing figures in the dying sunlight, both handsome, powerful looking young men, tall and impeccably dressed.

The sunlight was beginning to fade behind the clouds as Draco rapped on the door. A stately blonde woman opened it hesitantly, and Draco quickly pushed the door out of her hands and flung it wide.

"Bonjour, Madam," he began, "My partner and I have some business to discuss with you and your husband."

The woman stepped backward, obviously intimidated by the two young men, and licked her lips nervously.

"What sort of business?" she asked in accented English.

"The type that is not easily discussed on a doorstep," Draco said, stepping across the threshold and into the house with Blaise right behind him. He glanced around the main room of the house and seated himself on a couch.

"Your husband, madam," Blaise said, remaining standing at the woman's side, "and anyone else who is in the home."

Mrs. Delacour turned an ashen white and looked a bit panicky. She wrung her hands together as she called, "Phillipe! Phillipe!"

Phillipe Delacour entered the room and stopped cold at the sight of the two young men in his parlor, one seated on the couch as if he owned the entire room, and the other standing dangerously close to his wife.

"Monsier Delacour," Draco said, still seated, "Why don't you and your lovely wife have a seat?" He gestured to the sofa opposite him, and the two sat down as Draco slipped his wand between his palms.

"I believe your daughter has information that is very valuable to me," he said, sliding the thin hawthorn stick through his fingers, "And I believe you know where I can find her." He looked up and stared into Apolline Delacour's sky blue eyes, toying idly with his wand.

"Madame," he said, keeping his voice low, "I don't want this to be difficult."

"We don't know where Fleur is," stated Mr. Delacour firmly. "We can't help you."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You have no idea where your own daughter is? None at all?"

Draco's eyes caught the firm nod that Phillipe Delacour gave him, but he also saw the woman's jaw tremble, and he let out a disappointed sigh.

"You're lying to me. I so hate it when people lie to me," he said easily, and flicked his wand at the Frenchman, muttering, "_Silencio_." He turned his attentions to the girl's mother. "Madam, I wish your daughter no harm. I believe she is in possession of something that belongs to me—something I need—and something I will do anything to retrieve."

"I…I don't know where she is, monsieur." Apolline replied slowly, nervously taking her husband's hand and pulling it into her lap.

Draco shook his head sadly and aimed his wand at her husband again. "_Crucio_," he intoned.

Tears began to roll down Apolline's cheeks as she watched her husband writhe in silent, screaming agony, clutching at her white-knuckled hand. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't do this."

"_Maman_…"

Everyone's eyes shot to the door.

Gabrielle Delacour stood frozen in the hall, peering into the room, her eyes wide with shock. She took in her tortured father and then glanced at Draco as if she were about to run, but Blaise was too quick. He picked her up bodily and brought her over to Draco, holding her close.

Draco eyed the young girl appraisingly and removed both spells from her father, who choked and gasped, still clinging to his wife.

"My, Mrs. Delacour, you have such a beautiful daughter. How old is she, now?" Draco said conversationally. He glanced at Blaise, who nodded in understanding.

"My Gabrielle is just a child, monsieur—just recently fourteen. Please…"

"She won't be a child for long," Blaise began, looking down at Gabrielle, still holding her tightly with one arm. "In fact, I hardly think 'child' is appropriate for such a…blossom," he finished, smoothing back the girl's fair hair.

Mrs. Delacour gasped, and Mr. Delacour grabbed his wife's hands again. "Please, leave my daughter out of this."

Draco arched an eyebrow at him, but neither Delacour noticed. They were watching in horror as Blaise leaned down and ran a finger along Gabrielle's cheek.

"Now, _cherie_," he crooned as she whimpered and pulled away, "That's no way to behave."

Mr. Delacour was on his feet instantly. "You will not touch her!" he roared.

"_Incarcerous_," said Draco, binding both parents with the same spell. "I'm sure we can work out an arrangement. You say you don't know where your daughter is? Fine. But I'm assuming that she calls in every now and again to let you know how she is. Perhaps I'll let Mr. Zabini hold on to Gabrielle for a bit, and next time you hear from your daughter, you'll let me know. I'm sure she'd love to chat."

"No!" cried Apolline as Blaise picked Gabrielle up again, "Please, I…"

"Apolline!" said Mr. Delacour sternly.

"No, Phillipe! I won't let them do this to Gabrielle," she said, and let out a choked sob. "Fleur is at Beauxbatons Academy."

Draco stood and nodded to Blaise, who still grasped the small girl tightly. "The school is Unplottable, is it not?"

The Delacours nodded, and Apolline spoke. "On my bureau is a broach with the school's crest. It's an emergency Apparition pass for parents."

Draco nodded at Blaise, who released the shell-shocked girl and left the room. Gabrielle flew to her parents, wrapping her arms around them tightly and crying quietly.

Blaise re-entered in a moment. "Shall we?" he said, tossing the broach into the air and catching it.

Draco nodded and glanced pointedly at Gabrielle.

"Of course," said Blaise, turning to the crying family on the couch, "It would not do to arrive at Beauxbatons to find that we have been lied to, would it?" He pulled Gabrielle from her parents, prying her fingers from their ropes. He grinned evilly at her parents as he lifted the hair from the back of her neck and touched his wand to her skin, hissing a complicated incantation.

"What black magic is this?" demanded Phillipe, peering at his daughter's neck, looking for a mark of some kind.

Draco smirked. "If you value her at all, I wouldn't try removing it. But if you've told us the truth, no harm will come to her. Come, Blaise. We need to tell another beloved daughter that mummy and daddy say hello."

The two Apparated straight to the main entrance of the Academy, and Draco smirked and pocketed the broach. So far, the Delacours had spoken the truth.

Beauxbatons was a grand palace, and Draco wondered why his parents had insisted he attend Hogwarts instead, in that drafty old castle. He glanced at Blaise, who glared disgustedly at him.

"Honestly, Draco. Of all of the things I've done for you, threatening to molest a kid in front of her parents has got to be among the lowest."

Draco snorted. "She's fourteen. You've done much worse than touch a fourteen-year-old's cheek.

"Well, yeah, but the last time I did something to a fourteen-year-old, I was fifteen." Blaise said uncomfortably.

"I'm teasing, mate," Draco said, smirking. "In fact, I hardly think 'child' is appropriate for such a…blossom," he mocked. "Seriously, Blaise? Blossom?"

Blaise shrugged. "Glad you can laugh about something," he said ruefully, "but I was going for creepy. It worked, didn't it?"

Draco shook his head and turned to the entrance of Beauxbatons, and his expression darkened. "Now, to storm the palace."

* * *

Bellatrix was later than Lucius anticipated.

He'd expected her to sound the alarm that the Dark Lord had been brutally murdered before he'd finished his luncheon, but that had been hours ago. He found himself wandering through the main library, pulling out a title here or there, only to put them all back without really looking at them.

He was worried, and he didn't like to be worried.

Narcissa came up from behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"What is preoccupying my Lord this evening?" she murmured against his back.

He turned to face her and ran a gentle finger through her hair, smoothing back the soft locks that had unraveled from the day's chignon.

"Ah, my Lady. I had expected to hear from your sister," he answered, slowly easing a pin from her hair.

She smiled and put a hand on his chest. "My Lord, the deed is done, and the plan is flawless. Don't be troubled by Bella. She has no real credibility anymore. Those who side with you will be the intelligent and the ambitious. The fools will be culled."

Lucius gave his wife a fierce grin and pulled her toward himself. "I love the way your mind works, my dear," he whispered, slipping her hair free from its knot. As the platinum locks spilled down over her shoulders, he swept her up in a deep kiss.

"And I, yours," Narcissa breathed as he pulled her toward a couch.

They sank down into the soft velvet as a House Elf popped into the room.

"Excuse Milly, Master, but—"

"Out! Now!" roared Lucius.

"But Master said that if Miss Bellatrix—"

Lucius groaned and turned to his wife, who sighed and fell back on the couch. "Go," she waved dismissively. "If only she could have waited ten more minutes…"

Lucius smirked and kissed his wife's hand before standing and straightening his robes. He stalked down the corridor to the parlor as a man possessed, ready to face Bellatrix's ire.

He wasn't quite prepared for her to fall at his feet and weep uncontrollably, clutching at his ankles.

"Oh, Lucius," she sobbed, "Who could d-d-do such a thing? The Dark Lord…they k-k-killed him! Lucius, what shall we do? What shall w-w-we do?"

Lucius, the picture of brotherly affection, lifted his sister-in-law's hands and led her to a settee. She sat willingly but held his hands in a vice-like grip, and Lucius could barely hide the temptation to shudder.

"What do you mean, Bella darling?" he asked in a low voice, feigning concern. "How has the Dark Lord been killed?"

"I don't know, Lucius. I went to…visit…with him this evening, and all that remains is his tortured body. His beautiful, tortured body!" she said, sobbing into his shoulder. He allowed himself a disdainful sneer.

"If what you say is true, Bellatrix, then someone has murdered our Lord."

Bella looked up at him, and he saw insanity shimmering in her dark eyes as easily as he saw the tears. "He must be avenged," she whispered.

"We will gather the inner circle. Fetch Roldolphus and Rabastan, and I'll find Nott and Carrow. We'll convene at our Lord's castle at midnight."

Bellatrix gave a shuddering sob. "I-I don't know if I c-can go on."

Lucius pulled his sister-in-law up to her feet and hugged her tightly to his chest.

"Everything will be as it should be, Bella. I shall see to it…_personally_."

* * *

"Give it up, Blaise. They've obviously covered their tracks well enough; she's probably magically bound to tell you nothing," Draco said, watching as Blaise lifted a Cruciatus curse from the Beauxbatons' Headmistress. She collapsed in a large heap—the woman was unbelievably huge, thought Draco—and didn't move.

"Tell me you didn't bloody kill her. That's the last thing I need," he complained.

"She's not dead, mate. But if you don't quit ordering me around like a nagging girlfriend, you might be," Blaise replied, checking Madame Olympe's pulse.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, scanning the room. "But I suppose you have experience with nags; you're the one who actually dated Astoria." Ignoring Blaise's glare, he paused and put a hand on the mantle. "Have we checked the Floo points yet?"

"Yes," Blaise sighed. "You told me to do that as soon as we figured out that they weren't here. No one has Flooed out in weeks."

Draco undid the top button of his shirt and folded his arms. They'd been at this stupid palace for the entire afternoon, and while it was clear that Ginny and her brothers had been here, they'd disappeared without a trace.

"We could go back to the Delacours. With the curse I have on little Elle, they're guaranteed to cooperate," Blaise said, flipping his wand idly.

"No, I'm sure that they told us what they knew. We could take the girl hostage, but that would just get messy—and they'd probably try to do something heroic and get very boring," Draco said, running a hand through his hair.

Blaise flipped his wand again and dropped it. He cursed and picked it up. "You know," he said slowly, "We can't track Apparition out of here, but if they're back in England, won't the Department of Magical Transportation have a record of the international entries?"

Draco grinned slowly. "I was wondering why I keep you around, you reprobate," he said, buttoning his shirt. "Looks like I've got a favor to call in at the Ministry."

* * *

Lucius arrived at the Dark Lord's final home at half past midnight. It would be to his advantage if he were the last to arrive, and since Narcissa was an excellent actress and could be "inconsolable" at the drop of a hat, he even had an alibi, just in case.

But it didn't matter. He found them all, the three Lestranges, Nott, and Carrow, gathered around Voldemort's rotting corpse, weeping. The Cruciatus curse had hastened the decay process—no, it was probably that the man had been decaying while there was still life in his body. Either way, the stench was unbearable.

Lucius took a place at the foot of the bed and knelt, bowing his head against the dark wood of the bed frame for effect.

"My brothers and sister," he began, keeping his head bowed, "A great transgression has happened this day. Our Lord has been slain, and brutally so. It falls upon us, the inner circle, to punish the transgressors and continue the perfect work our Lord began so long ago. He will be avenged, and he will be remembered by all Wizardkind."

He looked up, tears shining in his eyes. Narcissa wasn't the only Malfoy who could cry on command. The five other Death Eaters nodded, looking from the rotting corpse to their de facto leader with sorrow and vengeance intermingling in their glittering eyes.

"Now, comrades, I think it would be best if the LeStranges and myself began arrangements for the funeral. The ancient magic of a sorcerer's death should be considered, and Rabastan and I are most able with runes. Bellatrix and Roldolphus, your devotion to the Dark Lord will ensure that the funeral and burial immortalize his greatness. Narcissa shall assist you with preparations. Nott and Carrow, we need to investigate the cause of our Lord's death. I leave that charge in your capable hands."

The Death Eaters murmured their assent to these plans, and Lucius took his leave of them. He Apparated back into the lounge at Malfoy Manor and sank onto a leather chaise, placing a finger gently on his throbbing temple.

Lying was one thing, and Occlumency was another, but the six people he had most feared would question his assumed authority had bought and swallowed it whole. Nevertheless, Lucius sat on the soft leather for a full five minutes before he stood, straightened his robes, and went to find his wife.

He knew she'd be waiting up for him in bed. Narcissa hated having unfinished business of _any_ variety.

* * *

Ginny shut the door to the flat and sighed, setting down the small bag of groceries she'd purchased as she fussed with her key. Living as a Muggle was tiring, and it had been lovely to get out of the flat for the first time in the three days she'd been there.

For the past few days, Kingsley's sister had hovered around her, helping her learn how to use the micro-waver and the strange new money, but this afternoon, there had been some sort of crisis and Adela had left Ginny to fend for herself, promising that Devon would be home later in the day. Not that Ginny minded. She was still waiting for Charlie to keep his promise and find something useful to do.

She finally got the key to twist in the lock, and she yawned as she picked up the bag and carried it toward the kitchen, slowly putting the food away. She set the eggs in the refrigerator and realized that the carton was oozing with yellow goo. Cursing, she attempted to clean up the smashed egg.

Devon, entered the kitchen through the back door of the flat, his head bobbing to music that Ginny couldn't hear. When he saw her, he slipped a gadget from his ears and smiled.

"Evening, Ginny," he said cheerfully, "You made it to the store and back okay?"

"Yes," she replied, "It was a lot easier to use the, er, credit card than count out the, er, ponds."

"Pounds," Devon corrected with a laugh. "I'm going to go play my game. Mum'll be home a bit late, so she said I could just throw a pizza in the oven."

"Can I do it? I watched her work the oven yesterday," said Ginny. She was tired of being bored, and even though cooking a frozen pizza was mundane, it would give her something to do.

Devon nodded. "Sure, I guess. Pizza's in the freezer. Make sure you take off the cardboard before you put it on a tray. I'll be playing my game if you need help." He grinned and left Ginny to face the oven alone.

Ginny turned to the large appliance and gave it a look of fierce determination. First she needed to turn the thing on…

She heard a crack and jumped. The noise had sounded magical, though it might have come from Devon's game.

But the usual sounds from the game hadn't started.

She listened carefully for Devon, and heard nothing. Adrenaline began to course through her system. Over her rising panic, a small voice insistently repeated one thing: get your wand. Her new wand was in her bureau, in her room down the corridor.

She slipped off her shoes and padded across the linoleum kitchen floor in her socks, then slipped into the hall, moving carefully across the hardwood. She entered her room and pulled open her bureau, frantically fishing for her wand among the garments in the top drawer. Her fingers closed around it, and she realized she had been holding her breath.

She exhaled slowly, turned toward the doorway, and promptly stopped breathing again. There, silhouetted in the doorway, was her husband.

She raised her arm and held her wand high, ready to defend herself, but he flicked his wand and muttered, "_Expelliarmus._" She watched helplessly as her wand flew away into the corner of the room.

"_Accio_ wand," he drawled, catching Ginny's wand smoothly as he stepped up to her. In the darkened room, she couldn't see his expression clearly until his face was inches from hers, and when she raised her arms to protect herself from him, he grabbed them and held her so tightly that it brought tears to her eyes.

"I think it's high time you came home, _Mrs. Malfoy_," he said, his eyes electric with anger.

"What did you do to Devon?" she shakily managed to ask. Her courage was evaporating rapidly, and she hated the high tremor in her voice.

"The boy?" Draco said, arching a sardonic eyebrow. "He'll live, but if I were you that would be the last thing I'd be worried about."

He let go of her arms and ran the tip of his wand lightly down her cheek and slowly down the curve of her neck and down to her wrist, then repeated the motion on her other side.

"How did you find me?" she demanded, in a voice that sounded smaller than she had intended, her eyes carefully following his wand's path across her body.

He smiled, keeping his gaze trained on his task. "Perhaps I had a tracking charm on you, Princess. Or perhaps I have eyes in Muggle London. Or perhaps," he said, cupping her cheek with a strong hand, forcing her frightened eyes to meet his, "perhaps your darling sister-in-law doesn't hold up well under torture."

Ginny gasped and tried to shy away, but he held her head firmly. "You…you tortured Fleur? You beast!" she spat.

"Now, now, Ginny dear. I think you really ought to do as I say. You made a choice to run away from me, and that meant people needed to be hurt. I'm sure you don't want more people to suffer. Do you, love?" He smoothed his hand gently over her cheek, slipped his thumb behind her ear, and gazed at her with sad, reproachful eyes.

Ginny quailed, realizing that the look on Draco's face did not match the tightening grip around her head. She swallowed and summoned her fragmented courage. "No, this is not my fault, Draco. I don't care how good at manipulating people you are—you're the one who hurt people."

His eyes held hers, maintaining their mournful shade of grey, and he extended his other hand just enough to let his fingertips brush her cheeks and linger for a moment on her neck. "I didn't enjoy hurting them, Princess," he whispered in a low tone, "Not for a moment. And I'm sorry I had to do it."

She stared at him in disbelief. Deep down, she knew he was acting. This was Draco Malfoy. But the look on his face—and the tone in his voice—he couldn't be seriously sorry. Could he?

He released his grip on her and idly settled both wands in his pocket, keeping his silver eyes on hers. Slowly, he extended his hand, palm up.

"Your brother would be so devastated if anything else happened to his precious wife, mmm? Just as I would be if harm were to befall you. Let me take you home, Mrs. Malfoy." Ginny stared at him for a long moment, still confused by the game he seemed to be playing.

"You're asking? As if I have any say in the matter," Ginny finally muttered rebelliously. She watched as a smirk lit up his fair features, but his eyes glittered dangerously.

"Not really, love, but I thought I'd give you the courtesy of the question," he answered, seizing her hand. "Think of it as a bit of a test, which, unfortunately, you just failed."

He spun her around and held her tightly from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. He leaned down over her shoulder and whispered in a tone that made Ginny shiver.

"It seems to me that you need another lesson, _Princess_."

* * *

A/N: I know. I'm evil.

BUT...I can't help but be pleased that I finished this in under a month, especially since it's twice as long as most of my chapters. Please take a moment and let me know what you loved and hated—my muse feeds on critique, praise, and a hefty dose of guilt.

And a special thanks to some of my anonymous reviewers: I wish I could thank you personally like I do the reviewers who log in, but please know that some of the comments you gave me made my WEEK. Thank you!


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Things of a graphic nature happen in this chapter. If you don't care for that sort of thing, I'm sorry, but the story is rated M for a reason.

I disclaim.

* * *

With Draco's arm firmly around Ginny's waist, they Apparated into the manor. Determined to give him the hardest time 'teaching' her anything, Ginny kicked her heel back into his shin, but got only the satisfaction of a small hiss of pain. She quit struggling as he pulled her through the door; she was obviously not doing anything but making him angry, and every time she pushed against him, the steel strength of his arm cut across her rib cage, sending a jet of pain through her chest.

"Ow," she complained. "I am perfectly able to walk—"

Draco jerked her body roughly toward him in response and continued to stride down the hall, hauling Ginny along as she were a piece of luggage. He stopped in front of a large door and knocked.

"Enter."

Draco opened the door with his free hand and stepped into the room, setting Ginny down as he closed the door behind him.

"I've found her, Father," Draco drawled, though there was still a clear edge in his voice.

Lucius looked up from the ornate desk with papers strewn across it, took a sip of brandy from a tumbler, and smiled.

"Why, Ginevra, have you once again decided to grace us with your presence?"

Ginny brought herself up to her full height, still feeling a bit dwarfed by the tall blond who stood at her elbow. "Why?" she asked impudently. "Did you miss me?"

She felt Draco move beside her, but Lucius held up his hand and replied, "Yes, my dear. I do believe Narcissa has mourned the disappearance of a most beloved daughter-in-law these seven days."

Ginny rolled her eyes, inwardly impressed with her own courage. "Bollocks. You just miss me because you couldn't carry out your precious little plan."

Once again, Ginny felt Draco stiffen, but Lucius merely gave his drink a delicate swirl and smiled. "Oh?"

"You thought I didn't know about that _Sang Primoris_ spell. But I did," Ginny spat, "and I ruined your scheming."

Lucius laughed and set down his drink. "Is that what you think, my dear?"

Ginny was in no mood to be intimidated. "Yes. And I know more than that. I know about the banks, and the wands, and—"

Lucius waved a hand dismissively. "That's all fine and good, my dear, but it doesn't concern you. What I really want to know is whether or not you have done anything in the past two weeks that, as the wife of a Malfoy, might be regrettable to us all?"

Ginny opened her mouth to retort and then shut it just as quickly. "What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

Lucius leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands as he stared Ginny down with piercing silver eyes.

"Did you, Mrs. Malfoy, do anything in the past two weeks that might have broken the _vows_ you made to your husband?" he asked, drawing out each word slowly. "Particularly those vows regarding fidelity?"

Ginny slowly comprehended his meaning and blushed scarlet. "I…I…" she tried to answer.

"It's not really a secret you can keep, Ginevra," Draco said softly from behind her, again wrapping a possessive arm around her waist, siphoning away her breath. "I'll know soon enough."

"Draco makes an_ excellent _point, Ginevra," Lucius said, looking at her expectantly.

Ginny looked at the floor and shook her head. Her face flamed as hot tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked furiously, watching the rich patterns on the oriental carpet flick in and out of focus.

"Ginevra, I believe my wife has instructed you in the necessity of answering your betters when they ask a question of you. Aloud, my dear."

"N—No. I haven't," she mumbled.

Lucius stood and walked around his desk, stopping directly in front of her. He tipped her chin up with a graceful finger and peered into her eyes. "You will answer me in a full sentence, without stuttering or mumbling."

Ginny swallowed as a hot tear slipped onto her flaming cheek. "I haven't done anything to…break my vows," she said, wishing she could sink into the patterned rug and disappear.

"Excellent. Thank you, my dear," Lucius said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, dabbing away the solitary tear before letting her go and turning back to his desk.

"Father?" questioned Draco, his arm still draped around Ginny's waist.

Lucius sighed and sat down again at his desk. "I have no more need of her. She's all yours," he smiled. "Do what you must."

Draco nodded obediently, then slid his arm around Ginny's waist once more and turned her sharply, guiding her out of the room. Her burst of extremely foolish bravery had melted away, and now it was taking the better part of her courage to not quake in fear every time the strong arm wrapped around her pulled her a little closer to turn a corner.

He led her through the twists and turns of the Manor's ridiculously long corridors and back into her old room, which looked just the same as it had a week ago when she had been dressing for her wedding. The memory of those feelings wrenched Ginny in the gut, and she could feel her heart begin to rise with panic.

The sky outside was purpled with twilight, and Draco released Ginny. He circled the room, waving his wand to light the candles in the sconces, and she watched him helplessly, trying desperately to regain control of her being, recognizing that she was on the verge of releasing a deluge of frightened tears—and hating herself for it.

He finally turned toward her and slipped his wand into the pocket of his trousers, and Ginny noticed vaguely that his loathing of Muggle things did not extend to cashmere sweaters. He slowly slipped off the dove grey crew and began to cuff the white oxford underneath, keeping his eyes trained on her all the while.

She was holding her breath. Fear twisted in her stomach as he watched her, for while his face was placid, she did not like the glitter in his eyes. He stepped toward her and she unconsciously stepped back. He paused in the arrangement of his sleeves and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Ginevra," he began, and paused, studying her face for a moment. Was there a flicker of uncertainty in his? Ginny couldn't be sure what she saw. "Ginny," he began again, "I don't want to hurt you, love."

He glanced down and straightened his shirt cuff so that it lay just below his elbow. He looked back at her, and she was surprised to see softness in his eyes that she hadn't known possible. It was a trick, she thought—yet, her fear ebbed.

He stepped closer, and she raised her hands to her chest in an unconscious act of defense. Slowly, he reached out and took her hands in his own, kissing each one in a way that was almost tender. She didn't like this new, affectionate Draco. She felt too much like the fly the spider invited to tea.

Pulling her gently by the hands, he led her to the edge of the bed, and Ginny felt her fear bubble up again—she wanted, no, needed to be as far away from _that_ as possible—and this time the impulse was to fight. She wrenched her hands from his and pushed away, hard.

Draco, however, was unhampered by irrational fear and moved more quickly. He scooped her up with both arms, completely ignoring her kicking and clawing, and set her gently on the surface of the bed. He threw an arm over her waist, ignoring her thrashing and protests, and put his weight on it, leaning over her.

"Really, Ginevra? After everything you've been through—everything your friends have been through?" he drawled calmly, as though she weren't madly trying to escape.

Ginny stilled. She recognized the veiled threat, and she felt her fire die again as she realized, for the first time, that she had no way of knowing which of the Order—of her brothers—Draco had tracked down and probably captured before finding her.

Draco kept one hand firmly at her side, but he lifted the other to her face and gently traced away a stray tear. With an almost aching slowness, he drew his fingers across her cheek and down her jaw, smoothing them across the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder. He continued his way down to the neckline of her shirt, where he stopped and pulled back with a smirk.

"No buttons this time."

He moved his fingers to the bottom of her shirt and grazed his fingernails along the sides of her waist. Ginny gasped as his fingers touched her skin and was startled when Draco smiled down at her.

"I've missed that sound," he murmured.

He drew his fingers back across her waist, hitching her shirt up and tracing small circles on her pale stomach, traveling around to the smooth skin on her lower back. Ginny fought within herself—he was manipulating her, she could tell. She had no pretentious self-delusion that Draco would willingly seduce her without his own end game at the forefront of his mind.

But to fight him would only mean pain—and not just her own. His barely hinted threat earlier had made that quite clear. Yet the idea of giving over and enduring this willingly plunged Ginny into a world of fear. Suddenly, his every move was her only thought, as all of the other rational ones retreated to a safer place.

He gently pulled her up to sit next to him, and the instant thought of rebellion was quenched by the strong arms encircling her waist. She found that the only place to go, where he couldn't pierce her with his mercury eyes, was when her face was pressed into his chest.

She gasped again as he adjusted his arms around her, pressing her face further into the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled like amber and vanilla, she noted vaguely, still trapped in a paradox of numbness and hyper-awareness. Draco continued drawing small patterns along her back with the pads of his fingers, and Ginny couldn't bring herself to rip away.

He lifted her top as if to pull it over her head, but Ginny kept her arms and head firmly against his chest, a rather unorthodox position for rebellion, but that was what it was.

With a motion so fast and fluid that Ginny had no time to comprehend it, Draco wrenched both of her arms above her head, and with them, her shirt. He cast the Muggle garment to the floor with the slightest hint of disdain, pulling Ginny back toward him.

Ginny sat shell shocked for a moment as the rational part of her brain flooded back in, decrying his action, then cast around for something to yell about or something to hurt, but Draco seemed intent on making that incredibly difficult for her.

Just as she opened her mouth, he ran his free hand up from her waist, stopping just shy of her bra. His fingers toyed idly with the fabric between her breasts, and he slipped a finger underneath and was rewarded with another small gasp. The last of Ginny's sudden burst of resolve was wiped away as his grey eyes caught her own and held them tightly.

"Shall I rip this off too?" he murmured, tugging slightly on the lacy fabric. "Or would you like a gentler lesson tonight?"

Ginny bit her lip. The courageous, Gryffindor side of her mind wanted to tell Draco exactly what he should rip off, but that part of her mind was a distant echo. The feeling of his skin on hers was a much more urgent matter.

"Love," Draco whispered in her ear. "Here's another lesson for you."

He leaned down and very slowly brought his lips to hers. He kissed her gently, then pulled back just a few inches, locking her eyes in a serious gaze.

"Kiss me back, Ginevra."

Ginny fidgeted slightly and involuntarily bit her lip again. Draco brought his golden head back down to hers, stopping a hair's breadth from her mouth. Ginny inhaled a slow breath of air and closed the gap between them with a hesitant kiss. Draco answered it with force and deepened the kiss until it was anything but chaste.

She noted vaguely that she'd forgotten how wonderful his kisses were.

He pulled away suddenly, locking his intense gaze on her once again, and then pulled her head toward his with both hands, snogging her so thoroughly that Ginny saw stars when she finally blinked with both eyes open.

She stared up at him for a long moment, suddenly fully aware that she was in a bedroom, in Malfoy Manor, kissing Draco Malfoy, who happened to be her husband, and that her shirt lay in a pile on the floor. The weight and the terror of the past several weeks—months—flooded her brain with violent force, and she suddenly felt very alone. It was too much, and for a moment, Ginny felt dizzy. She gripped his shirt tightly and kept her eyes fixed on his.

She watched as he swept his hair back, away from his face. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he lifted her chin and looked at her face as if he was memorizing it.

He slowly closed the distance, and she could feel the warm solidness of his chest beneath his shirt. He was going to kiss her again, and part of Ginny wanted to tell him off, and another part was frightened. But another voice had entered her brain—a voice that desperately wanted him to do just that.

Just moments before his lips should have touched hers, he stopped. He hovered just centimeters away from her, unmoving except for his slow, steady breathing.

Ginny's breath was far from steady. Her heart had begun beating erratically a long time ago, but now its pounding was so loud that it was irreversibly cutting off logical thought. She could feel his warm breath and smell his cologne, but he wasn't touching her at all. Despite that, Ginny felt sure she'd been paralyzed by some enchantment—like her skin was on fire.

"Go on, Gin. You've done this before."

As if he had broken an spell, Draco's soft whisper threw Ginny's brain into fast-forward. Suddenly, she was kissing him, holding onto his head and shoulders with ferocious determination and plundering his mouth like a woman possessed.

Which, reflected a tiny voice at the back of her mind, she probably was.

She felt strong arms lift her up, pulling her still closer, and she let him trap her there, pinned tightly against his solid chest. Ginny dizzily realized that she felt extremely warm, and she wondered for the briefest of moments why the room was so hot, before another assault on her bruised mouth ended linear thought.

Draco could feel her soften slowly under his touch, and didn't bother to hide the subtle curl upward at the corner of his mouth as he gave her the smallest of smirks and gently brushed a tendril of damp hair away from her face.

He leisurely leaned back and smoothly ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, along her jaw and shoulder. Ginny shivered as she struggled with the need to shy away and the desire to lean in to his touch. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the lacy strap of her bra and slipped his hand under it, tracing the line of the fabric with the tip of his fingernail as he eased lower.

Ginny's breath hitched in her throat as his hand slid down further and gently pulled the filmy fabric out of the way. His eyes were intent on his handiwork, but he glanced up for a moment and met her wide-eyed gaze with a calm glance.

His silver eyes held her own as he moved in for a tender kiss on the mouth, his hand closing over her breast and sending a shockwave of electricity from her toes to her fingertips. He kept her there for a moment that felt like an eternity, gently, almost protectively holding her upright. His other hand slipped behind her, drawing her again into his chest, and for a moment, Ginny's fear faded away.

"Alright, love," Draco whispered in her ear, still holding her close, "This time, you're going to do the unbuttoning." He pulled away with her and picked up her hands, which were wrapped rather protectively around her waist. He lifted them to his collar, holding her gaze with unfaltering eyes.

Ginny swallowed. She didn't want to do this. Did she?

"Go on. It's just a button," he instructed softly, still holding her wrist.

Tentatively, Ginny slid the small button through the soft fabric.

"Good girl," Draco said quietly, guiding her hand to the next one. "Again."

Ginny was again reminded of the spider inviting the fly home for tea, but her fingers unwittingly slid another button free, and she realized she was holding her breath. Draco's shirt slipped open a bit, his pale skin gleaming in the candlelight.

Draco lowered her hand again, this time making sure that her fingertips grazed the skin behind the fabric, and repeated his instructions. "Again."

Ginny exhaled slowly and repeated the motion on the third button. Her eyes snagged on his, and she realized that the look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before.

Slowly, he let go of her hand, and she looked at him, puzzled.

"Go on. You know what to do," he said his voice low and coldly austere—so different from how he had sounded a moment before.

Ginny bit her lip and looked up at him. "I—" she began. Draco arched an eyebrow. His hair fell across his forehead, messy, as though he'd just been snogged rather violently—which, Ginny reminded herself, he had. The cotton shirt that she was opening so very slowly fell loosely around him, showcasing the toned muscles that she knew all too well.

He looked surprisingly disheveled, and for a moment, Ginny was startled.

She hadn't realized that Draco could be anything beyond immaculately controlled, and now, here, half-naked in front of him, she became incredibly aware that she was the cause of this change.

"Ginny," he said, his voice low with warning, "finish it."

Feeling strangely, unreasonably, confident, she slipped her fingers around the edge of the shirt and flipped the remaining four buttons open, one by one, until his shirt fell open. She yanked her hands back with a startled intake of breath, and he smirked as he let it slip off his shoulders and pool on the floor with hers.

Slowly, he pushed her back onto the bed and engulfed her mouth in another kiss. His skin met hers with pure fire, and for a moment, neither one could breathe.

Draco dragged his fingernails along her side, etching faint pink marks across her waist and hips. His fingers caught on the waist of her denims, and he broke the kiss only to smirk at her.

"This won't do, will it?"

With practiced ease, he had them off before Ginny could breathe, and almost as an afterthought he removed his own as well.

He lay back down next to her, his skin pressed flush against hers, and met her eyes with a look of incredible seriousness. He ran his hand lightly over her stomach, gently pressing his fingers into her soft skin. She noticed a vague smile at the sharp breath she took as his hand flitted over the lacy waistband of her knickers.

He unconcernedly ran a hand lower, brushing more sensitive areas, and Ginny's whole body reacted as if he'd electrocuted her.

"I think you're going to enjoy this lesson, darling," he drawled, smirking, as Ginny's eyes snapped to his face with concern.

Still reeling, she made herself focus on his eyes, which were a smug, hard silver.

"Enjoy what lesson?" she asked tentatively, in a vain attempt to buy her mind time to comprehend this.

Draco smirked again., "The one in which I teach you to beg," he replied nonchalantly, propping his head up with one arm and slipping the other gently between her thighs.

Ginny swallowed. This was new territory, and she did not like the way her body was reacting to it.

"Teach me to beg?" she replied, barely aware that the waver in her voice was the reason for her husband's detached smirk.

"Mmhmm," he murmured, kissing her neck gently while giving her inner thigh a light squeeze. "And I think," he paused, kissing her collar bone and sliding his hand up a bit more, "that I've proven," he smirked as Ginny hissed with surprise when his lips closed over her breast, "to be an excellent teacher."

With a fluid motion, he flipped her to her back and smoothly parted her legs, slipping his hand right over _that_ spot—the one that made Ginny forget to breathe.

He was wicked.

But he was right. Somewhere in the haze of a completely new world of experiences, Ginny's knickers disappeared. Draco smirked down at the redhead, who was completely in his power, spread across his sheets, her naked skin practically glowing with want—want which was certainly not one-sided, he allowed.

She moaned aloud, the cue he'd been waiting for, and he instantly ceased his ministrations. She looked up at him with wide doe eyes, and he felt his own need increase ten-fold.

"What's wrong, precious?" he asked gently, carefully.

"N-nothing," she responded bravely.

Draco forgave her with a few languid kisses. He gave her another light touch, only to stop again as she arched back. This time, he was quite certain, she was holding back a pout.

"Do you need something, Ginevra?" He drawled lazily, running his other hand up to cup her breast, drawing his thumb in small circles around her tender nipple until it was hard.

Ginny bit her lip. He had put some sort of spell on her, she was sure. Like the Imperius, perhaps—she had never felt this out of control of her own body.

Draco didn't wait for an answer. He kissed her, hard, and brought her back to that state of not-quite-reality again. Ginny was fairly certain that there were fireworks going off in her stomach. If only he'd stop long enough to let her think—but—

"I know, Ginny," he said, letting deliberately measured sympathy meet her wide, amber colored eyes as she whimpered when he pulled his hand away. "But if you need something, you must ask."

"P—" She couldn't. She just couldn't. But her body was arching in flagrant betrayal of everything her heart was screaming, and her mouth just wouldn't obey, and—"Please?"

She hated herself, absolutely hated herself, for about the three seconds that it took for Draco to take her back to the land of fog and fireworks.

And what a land it was.

She died that small death at his hand, and with a shuddery sigh that was nearly a sob, she fell back to earth, landing on the soft mattress, and clung to the warm, pale skin that held her close.

Draco held her for a long moment, pressing her head up into his chest and marveling at the color of the red hair that slipped between his fingers. Never had he taken a girl that far over the edge. For a moment, he hated his father for what he had to do next; but she was as ready as she'd ever be, and it had to be done.

He slipped off his boxers, keeping Ginny close so that she couldn't see what he was doing. She was still clinging to him, digging her nails into his back and hiding her face in the crook of his neck, and he slid one hand back to keep her head there.

He carefully positioned himself and slid into her. She gasped, and closed his eyes and swallowed. He would never enjoy this part—and she would never know that. With a hard, quick thrust, he felt her break underneath him, and relief he didn't know he was harboring broke over him in waves. It was done.

Ginny let out a stifled scream, quite sure that he'd just managed to rip her whole body in two. "Shhhh," Draco said, smoothing her hair as he set her head down on the pillow. "Almost done."

She blinked back silent tears as he began to move very slowly and purposely. Each movement brought with it a different kind of pain, from the first sharp tear to the dull, fading ache as Draco collapsed next to her, suddenly. She shivered violently, her ears pounding with violent emotion after violent emotion. He'd done it—and now all she wanted to do was throw up. Anything to get rid of the feelings coursing through her blood.

She tried to sit up, but he flung an arm out.

"Don't move," he ordered, in a much different voice than the one that had comforted her minutes before.

"But I—you—" Ginny said. She was going to have to work on this speaking in complete sentences thing.

She was interrupted from her frustrated reverie when she realized that Draco, sitting up and still unclothed, was tracing a circle of sparks in the air around them. Ginny glanced at him and swallowed. _That _had been inside her? She felt a bit dizzy for a moment.

Draco muttered something and the sparks turned from gold to red.

"What are you—" she began again, but he silenced her with a look.

He slid his hand in between her legs, and she saw that his fingers were smeared with a faint trace of her own blood. She instantly felt sick. Only the blackest magic would require something so rare, so difficult to obtain, and so dearly given.

Draco seemed to have a similar opinion. His lip curled in disgust as he transferred the blood to the tip of his wand, then pointed it toward his own heart. Ginny watched with a sick fascination as the red sparks began to glow brighter, swirling back around the wand, and encasing Draco in red light. The light continued to move, rushing around Draco, and then curling around Ginny. She sat up suddenly as the light began to pool around her. Startled, she glanced up only to meet Draco's similarly shocked expression. Wasn't the spell supposed to affect him alone?

The sparks became a glowing light, which swirled into a dense fog, until all Ginny could see was a red glow. Her ears burned as a high pitched whistle filled them, searing the tone into her skull, and her nostrils filled with a spicy, pungent odor. Her skin began to feel warmer, then unbearably hot, and she realized that the light was being sucked into her skin, permeating her entire body with the sharp tingle of strong magic.

Time passed, perhaps minutes, maybe hours, the last of the _Sang Primoris_ faded away into a red fog. Draco and Ginny stared at each other for a long moment, shell-shocked.

"Bloody fuck," murmured Draco. "What've we done?"

* * *

**A/N:** I know. It's been months. More importantly, it's been a YEAR since I posted the first chapter. Can you believe it? I can't. The journey I've been on has been an interesting one, to say the least, and I've truly enjoyed all the friends I've made along the way. You know who you are, and I adore you.

This chapter probably still wouldn't be here if it weren't for a lot of those people, especially scubarang and Kim (Boogum) for their insight, critiques, and encouragement, and certainly not without my amazing beta, Gidge8, who never ceases to stretch me. Oh, and Lunar Fire, I'm _waiting_.

To all the reviewers who flattered, praised, critiqued, complained, and otherwise highly encouraged and entertained, THANK YOU.

scubarang—this one's for you.

**So…thoughts?**


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I know. It's been awhile. It's been a rough six months. I promised I wouldn't abandon this story, though, and I won't. I hope this offering is sufficient.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the sheer white curtain, and Ginny cursed the house elf who had opened the drapes. She'd been having a lovely dream, and the light was unrelentingly bright. She tried to roll over in an attempt to avoid the harsh light, but with no luck—she seemed to be twisted in the sheets. She had a tendency to be a bit of a violent sleeper, but this was unusual. She struggled for a moment, incoherent frustration interrupting the remnants of her dreams, when a groggy male voice forced her to wake up—quickly.

"You're staying there until I figure out what happened last night, love. Be a good girl and go back to sleep. I'm not ready to deal with you yet."

Ginny whipped her head around and discovered, to her horror, that her eyes were inches away from Draco's. The last remnants of her lovely dream flitted away as she recalled the dark magic spell—and the events preceding it—from the night before.

Sullen with sleep, he stared back at her with a slight pout, as if willing her to be quiet. He lazily lifted an eyebrow and hinted at a smirk.

Ginny met his gaze for a moment and then tried again to sit up. She struggled for another moment before her mouth fell open as she realized that the sheets weren't the problem.

"_Why_ am I tied to the bed?"

The blond met her outrage with a calm, sleepy grin. "You mean you don't like it? Pity."

Ginny stared at him indignantly.

He sighed. "I can't have you running about until I figure out what that spell did to you. And I couldn't use magic to keep you here for the same reason. But you aren't leaving my sight until I figure out what happened, so you better get used to it. Now, be a good girl and go back to sleep. It's not even eight o'clock.

"But this is—" she began, but he reached his arm over and clamped his hand over her mouth.

"I'm sleeping for at least another hour. Probably two. Do you want to spend that time gagged, too?" he said irritably. Ginny shook her head. "Then be quiet," he ordered, and pulled away from her, snuggling in-between two pillows so massive that Ginny couldn't see his head from her limited vantage point.

She was wide-awake and hungry to boot. The nerve of him.

She tried in vain to remember what had happened after Draco had begun the spell. It was all a blur. She remembered the sensation of the magic being sucked into her skin, and the electric crackle that had filled the air. He had been surprised, too. After that…she struggled to remember, but nothing more came to mind. She must have been knocked unconscious, because she couldn't recollect the foggiest memory. She supposed that Draco must have tied her arms to the bedpost and gone to sleep, too.

She lay in bed for what felt like forever, listening to him breathe. If she turned her head all the way to the side, she could see the slow rise and fall of his bare chest nested in the downy white sheets. The sun, which was now streaming in with the full force of an early fall morning, didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

She realized, for the first time, that they were in her old room. Perhaps that was his way of making her a bit more comfortable. Her mind wandered through the events of last night, and Ginny felt a tinge of shame grace her cheeks. She had enjoyed it, even asked for it. But he was the enemy—what he had done was criminal. And yet she'd kissed him of her own accord. She was complicit.

But was that so wrong? What other choice did she have? She frowned as she watched him sleep. Certainly she hadn't given him an easy time of it. And he hadn't hurt her. Not in the way she thought he would.

Or had he? Ginny shivered underneath the heavy blanket. No good wizard would perform a spell of that nature. This was stuff of the blackest magic, and now she was caught up in it—she'd had ancient magic performed on her, the type that required something great. She swallowed. Maybe as Malfoy's wife, rather than his prisoner, she'd be able to find out exactly why the man who slept next to her was willing to risk such evil, dark magic.

Except that she was tied to the bedpost. That certainly didn't bode well.

Ginny realized that she was glaring so hard at the slowly moving torso that she was giving herself a headache. With a sigh, she pulled herself toward the headboard so that she could turn onto her side. The sheets slipped off her chest, and the cool air across her back made her realize that she was still unclothed. Annoyed, she attempted to kick them higher, which only resulted in a groan from Draco.

Instead, she rolled onto her stomach, spent a fruitless long minute trying to arrange her elbows comfortably, and sulked until she fell back to sleep.

* * *

"Ginevra," Draco said, running his nails lightly down her back. "Time to get up."

Groggily, Ginny tried again to roll over before her drowsy mind recalled her predicament. With a groan, she craned her neck to look at Draco. He was sitting up in the bed next to her, running his hand through his hair, which was wet. He must have already showered, she thought.

"I need clothes," she muttered.

He looked down at her and grinned wickedly. "You wouldn't rather spend the day in bed getting better acquainted, love?"

Ginny glared at him. "I don't seem to have a choice at the moment, do I?"

His grin turned into a smirk. "There's a good girl. Pity we need to take care of more important matters first."

He snapped twice and a house elf appeared at the bedside. "Clothes for myself and a robe for the lady," he ordered.

"Are you going to untie me, then?" Ginny asked sharply, slowly turning to her back. Not only was it more than a little humiliating to be tied up, but also her wrists were beginning to hurt.

Draco glanced over at her quickly, then looked again, and this time his eyes stayed. He cocked his head, as if considering her suggestion. "Maybe in a moment. For now, I rather like you like that."

The elf re-appeared with a garment bag and a silky robe. Draco set the latter on the bed, stood up, and began to dress. Ginny watched him slip on boxers and a well-washed pair of denims. A Malfoy in jeans? What would Narcissa, the mistress of Malfoy decorum and propriety, have to say?

He left the shirt on its hanger and grabbed his wand, drying his hair with a simple spell and arranging it with a much more complicated one. As he finished, he turned to Ginny and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, which he went to open.

"You called?" Blaise stepped into the room and flashed a grin at his shirtless friend. "Still enjoying the spoils, hm?" he chuckled, then followed Draco's smirking gaze to the bed and laughed aloud. "Why, Mrs. Malfoy, you do play that role well, don't you?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and tried to wriggle further under the sheets, a difficult maneuver.

"I called nearly twelve hours ago, you degenerate," Draco complained. "We have a situation, and I do not want to get my father involved unless I absolutely must."

Blaise's eyes flew to Ginny again, but there was no smirk in them anymore. "Did she lie about—" he began, looking at her darkly.

"No, no. That part was fine. It was the spell itself that I'm not so sure about."

Blaise kept his eyes fixed on Ginny, who had managed to wriggle far enough under the sheets so as to consider her position semi-modest. "Are you sure she should hear this?"

"There isn't really a way not to let her hear. I don't want her out of my sight, and I don't want to use a spell, in case it has…unwanted effects."

Ginny's alarm was growing. Smirking boys were one thing, but dangerous men worried about dangerous magic was something else entirely. The two had dropped their voices to a low hush, and try as she might, she could only hear snatches of their conversation.

"Did she interfere—"

"—but unintended side effects—"

"—interpretation—"

"Keeping your ability intact—"

"He won't be pleased if we tell him—"

"Ginevra," Draco called, "go get dressed. I think my mother has left you some clothing choices in the closet." He waved his wand in her direction and the rope that bound her arms to the bedpost loosened. She wriggled free, carefully staying underneath the sheets as she pulled the robe under the covers and slipped it on before standing up.

She was relieved realize that she didn't feel any more magic as she walked to the bathroom and stepped into a gloriously hot shower. She felt dirty and more than a little sore, but any palpable feeling of magic was gone.

Still, as her fear about the dark magic's lasting effect ebbed, it was replaced by memories—memories of skin, and buttons, and hair, and fingers, and lips, and fireworks. Ginny shivered despite the hot water. She'd never be able to purge those sensations from her memory, and the thought made her want to retch. No matter how hard she scrubbed, by the time she got out of the shower, she still felt disgusting.

The closet was just as Ginny remembered, with shelves, cupboards, and racks filled with ridiculously expensive trappings. Sure enough, two complete outfits were laid out on the chaise in the corner. One was a berry-red wrap-around dress and the other was a royal blue form-fitting sheath. Ginny couldn't help but pout over having to wear such dresses, particularly ones chosen for her. _Draco _got to wear denim.

She thought for a moment about rebelling. There had to be a comfortable pair of trousers in this gigantic closet. But she was wet and cold, her robe was just flimsy silk, and she was on shaky enough ground as it was. She settled on the red garment. At least it didn't look like a tightly tailored torture device.

She slipped into the matching heels that Narcissa had set out and studied herself in the mirror. Without a wand, drying her thick hair was going to be difficult.

"Very nice, darling," Draco drawled. "Though I think I liked the blue better."

Ginny bit back a retort and turned to find him leaning against the doorway. "Is Blaise gone?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "He had a meeting scheduled with someone else, apparently." He watched her from behind as she rubbed the towel on her head. "Do you want me to send for Jacques?" he chuckled.

"No, I just need it dried," Ginny gritted out, shooting a glare at him in the mirror. "And don't you have better things to do than watch me do that?"

Draco smirked. "Ask nicely."

Ginny seethed. She'd be damned if she asked him to do anything at all, she thought. A sudden, vivid memory reminded her that she'd asked him to do many, many things the previous night, and the fact that he shared that identical memory made her flinch. But inspiration struck rather conveniently.

"Draco, would you please leave the closet so that I can dry my hair in peace?" she said sweetly.

She watched as his smirk faded. "It would serve you right to leave you to dry that mane for the next few hours, but I'm in a hurry," he complained. "Let's go." He flicked his wand in her direction.

Ginny reached up to towel her hair one last time and realized that it was dry. She marveled for a moment before following him out of the dressing room. She hadn't just actually won. Had she?

* * *

Blaise Zabini adjusted his collar, exhaled, and knocked loudly on the solid oak door. It opened for him, and he stepped inside. Though he kept his eyes low, they still sparkled.

"Master Zabini, welcome," Lucius said from behind his desk. The older man did not stand in greeting, but he did motion to the chair opposite his. Blaise crossed the rich carpeting and sank into the low leather seat.

"My Lord," Blaise acknowledged, smiling roguishly. "At least, I assume that's what we're supposed to call you these days."

Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk. His grey eyes pierced through the younger man's façade, and the smile faded from Blaise's face. "Is it?" he asked. "What leads you to assume that?"

Blaise's eyes didn't betray any fear, but Lucius's shone with confidence all the same as the younger man was silent for a moment. "I've heard of some interesting doings, sir. Through your son, of course—all things that shall not be named."

"Ah," breathed Lucius, sitting upright again and gently brushing his fingertips along the rim of his brandy glass. The crystal hinted at a ring before he lifted it to his lips for a sip of the amber brandy. "And if you would call me Lord, then you certainly will affirm your loyalty to me, will you not?"

"You wish me to prove my worth, sir?" Blaise said, another cavalier smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'm certain I can think of a few ways."

"Don't be a fool, Master Zabini. I know about you and your little…indiscretionary vices." He noted the rapidity at which the young man's eyes flew to his. "But don't think that blackmail is the name of the game. I know better what makes true loyalty, Blaise. That is why I am standing before you—and why Riddle is dead."

Blaise swallowed. Pity he hadn't better control, Lucius mused, but dismissed the thought. Poor boy hadn't had a father, after all. "Now, Master Zabini, I understand that you've had a young Mudblood in your control these past months?"

"Yes, my lord," he responded quietly. "Hermione Granger. She was given into my express care after the incident at Draco's engagement," Blaise said quietly.

"You've been playing with her, then?" Lucius said, gazing past the leaded glass and out onto the green lawn of the Manor. Even eye contact contained a transaction of power.

Blaise squirmed slightly. "No, sir. I was instructed to keep her hungry and lonely. I only questioned her when Ginny—Ginevra—went missing a few weeks ago."

Lucius sighed and stood, walking to the window. "If I told you that I wanted information from the girl, could you get it?"

Blaise licked his lips as Lucius turned back to him. "Yes, my Lord. I think so," he said, his voice full of bravado despite the older man's deepening frown.

"Roll up your sleeve, Zabini." Blaise undid his right cuff and began to fold the smooth cotton over. "Your other arm."

Blaise's eyes again darted to Lucius's grey ones, but he obeyed silently.

"I never took the mark for Lord Voldemort. He thought it better if—"

Lucius's lip curled in an elegant sneer. "As if his actions are precedence for what I'm about to do."

He moved to stand directly in front of Blaise, who had bared his arm up to the elbow and was now doing his best to try to look everywhere but at his friend's father.

"You asked what you needed to do to prove your loyalty."

Blaise swallowed again and nodded, cringing ever so slightly as Lucius unsheathed his wand and began to slip it idly between his fingers. He realized suddenly that the skill that Draco had in manipulating fear in others had a direct line of ancestry.

"You don't need to prove it. You just need to give it." Lucius said darkly, and muttered a spell in an ancient language, foreign to Blaise's ear.

Not that he would have remembered. The second that the cool wood of the wand touched his bare arm, Blaise's body was flooded with unbelievable, inescapable pain. From underneath his fingernails, inside his teeth, and emanating from every scrap of marrow in his entire being, pain coursed through his body.

Coherent thought disintegrated instantly. He was aware that he was no longer on the chair—this was carpet, not leather—and then, how much later he could not say, he realized that his mouth was full of his own blood. He spat wildly before another wave of death overcame him. This was not like the needles and blows of the Cruciatus Curse. This pain was birthed within his body, and in another strange moment of consciousness, he wondered if he was being slowly ripped open and flayed.

The pain subsided slowly, in gradual waves that ebbed and flowed. He spat out more blood and managed to bring the back of his hand—it was his hand, he thought—to wipe the thick liquid from his face.

He lifted his eyes to see that Lucius was standing over where he lay crumpled in a heap, and he appeared completely emotionless. Cautiously, Blaise moved to a sitting position, but as he leaned on his left arm, another jolt of pain shot from his fingertips to his heart. He grabbed the limb with his other hand and examined it; there were faint red lines quickly fading just under his skin.

"What—" he rasped, choking. "What is—"

"You're familiar with spells of this nature," Lucius interrupted brusquely. "I think you have a much kinder one on the head of a young French girl that may come in handy soon."

Blaise heaved. His lungs still weren't cooperating properly, and his mouth was still bleeding. He guessed that he'd lacerated his tongue, and probably his cheeks, without realizing it. Lucius aimed his wand at him again, and he cried, "No—no, my lord, please, no!"

Which was perfect.

Lucius levitated him back into his chair and walked back around the desk to sit directly in front of him once more. He took another sip of brandy and smiled kindly at the bruised, bleeding boy.

"I'll need all the information you can get out of the Mudblood. You'll deliver it to me, in-person, as it is available."

Blaise nodded quietly. His right hand was pressed against his lip in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"I trust that I have your complete devotion and undying loyalty?"

The young man's eyes flew to his once more as the gravity of the situation fell with a thud of realization. Lucius had just enabled himself to torture him on a whim, and who knew what other powers the curse wielded.

"Y-yes, my Lord," he said, bowing his head.

"Good lad. Now, out of my sight."

Blaise limped out of the room, a fraction of the debonair man who had entered it not an hour before. Lucius sighed slowly, an expression ribboned with aloof disgust and exasperation. The boy would recover and go back to his devil-may-care life, following Draco around and chasing after pretty faces. Except now he would know that the devil did, indeed, care very much.

As the door clicked shut, Lucius snapped for a House Elf. He hated it when the nice, Oriental carpet in his office was stained with blood.

* * *

A/N: This was a bit of a transitional chapter--which is a good thing. The story is going somewhere, and that means I'm dying to write it. Actually, I AM writing it. There may or may not be a forced honeymoon involved, and more about what happened to Bill, Charlie, and Fleur.

Of course, if you want, I could make that spell make Draco and Ginny fall eternally in love as soon as they kiss, at which time they will have twin babies with pink hair. I'd name them Castor and Pollux, of course, because all fanfic Malfoy babies MUST be named after constellations. And they'd have pink hair. Of course, I love it when Draco is a dad to girls, so I'd actually name them Castora and Polluxi (Luxi for short). And Lucius, upon holding them, would resign his power-hungry Blaise-torturing ways and become a doting Grandpa.

Or not.

Happy very, very late birthday, scubarang. Sorry about Blaise. I'll make it up to you.

Thanks to Gidge8 and Boogum for thoughtful beta work.

Reviews make me write. So make me write.


	17. Chapter 17

Narcissa swept into the Manor library and was instantly horrified at the sight that met her. "Ginevra! That is not how a young woman sits in a chair!"

Ginny had dozed off leaning over the side of the stately wingback and she snapped to attention with a jolt. Draco, who was poring over more Rune-work, glanced up with a teasing grin on his face.

"Please forgive me, Mrs. Malfoy," she said groggily, avoiding Draco's amused gaze.

"Yes, well," Narcissa said imperiously, lifting her brow as Ginny tried to regain some semblance of good posture. "Draco, your father wants you and Ginevra out of the country and on a proper honeymoon. Tonight."

Ginny blanched, but she caught the way Draco's jaw tightened before he drawled, "But of course he does." She noted the way Narcissa's perfect eyebrow flicked upward, and while considering Draco's sudden need to smooth out the crinkled parchment in front of him, she absently licked her lips.

"Miss Weasley! Did I just see you—" Narcissa began, but then cut herself off with a patronizing smirk. "I beg your pardon, _Mrs. Malfoy_, but I would remind you that a lady's tongue belongs in her mouth."

"Not all the time," Draco murmured under his breath.

Narcissa gave him a look that was so cold that the temperature in the room lowered considerably. Ginny nestled further into the chair, trying to blend into the sumptuous leather.

"The house elves will have you both packed by this afternoon. Decide where you're going or I'll decide for you—either way, you leave before dinner," she said crisply. "Your father has a guest."

Ginny, still trying to be invisible until the air between the mother and son stopped crackling, didn't dare to look at either face. Silence reigned for a long moment before Draco conceded, "Of course, mother. I'll arrange for the Portkey."

Narcissa exhaled smugly and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her silk blouse, then selected a book and handed it to Ginny. "A bit of light reading while you're away, my dear. I expect to find your ability to sit in a chair much improved when you return."

Draco choked on something between a snigger and a cough as Ginny murmured a subdued thanks. Ignoring her son, Narcissa swept out of the room. Ginny decided that if she had to spend the next several days honeymooning with Draco and learning to sit properly in chairs, she'd ignore him too.

She flipped open the book and read quietly, "For indeed, a lady of breeding and character must _never_ sit to the left of a gentleman when traveling by coach or carriage."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"It's that fascinating, is it?" Draco said, interrupting her disgust.

Ginny shut the book. "I'm not allowed to sit on your left side when we're in a carriage. Though who owns a carriage anymore, I have no idea."

Draco smirked. "I have two. And don't worry, darling. I'll always seat you to my right. Don't want anyone mistaking my princess for a common whore," he said sarcastically.

Ginny blushed crimson and stood up. "I'm going to choose a different book, I think," she declared, running a hand through her loose curls.

"Sit," Draco commanded smoothly. "You'll read that or you'll help me copy runes."

Ginny turned away anyway and stepped to the nearest bookshelf, which was filled with titles regarding Arithmancy. Frowning, she moved a bit farther down the wall, hoping to find something remotely fanciful, when a strong arm snaked around her waist.

"You do realize," Draco whispered slowly, "that in under six hours I'm going to take you out of the country to an isolated, faraway place, and keep you there for a few _weeks_?" He flipped her around, pushing her back into the bookshelf and wedging his knee in-between her legs. "You ought to think twice about your little displays of independence," he hissed, tipping her chin up and forcing her eyes toward his.

To her horror, she realized that she was a bit frozen with shock. Her eyes darted to meet his, and she watched as his glare faded into a confident smirk. He slipped his thumb up from her chin and ran the tip of it slowly along her lower lip, gently forcing her mouth open.

With the utmost leisure, he bent his head down, still pressing his thumb against her lip until the moment his mouth met hers, and he slowly, firmly began to kiss her. He gently forced her back into the wall of shelves, pressing his weight against her. She could feel him breathe—and she could hear her own heart beat.

Feelings from the night before began to rise and fall in her mind. She was frightened by the way he had her trapped, then comforted by his closeness; she was melting over the way he kissed her so carefully, then was angry over how cavalierly he took advantage of her; she remembered how wonderful it had felt to be so close, and then—shame.

When she realized that she was kissing him back, she pulled away hastily, looking up at him, wide-eyed and silent as a few volumes written in Elvish fell off the shelf and landed with an echoing thud. Draco cocked his head and brushed a few unruly waves of hair behind her ear. His touch was electric against her skin, and Ginny bit her lip involuntarily.

"Come now," Draco said quietly, letting his hand play down her arm to grasp her own. "Do as I say and sit."

He led her by the hand back over to her chair, and to her chagrin she sat without a word.

He picked up his pen and bowed his head over the Runes he had been diligently copying onto parchment all morning. She watched, silent, as his quill scratched over the paper for a few moments before he looked up and smiled knowingly.

"Do you prefer private villas or private islands?"

* * *

Hermione winced as the sun's late morning light forced her out of her sleep. Her old cell hadn't had any windows to remind her that anything like the sun still existed. It was less painful when one could forget that things like light and time survived.

She swallowed, wincing again as her raw throat tried to close, and she made an attempt to roll over, hoping to get her face out of the sun's way but still position her body in its warmth, a move that was, by now, routine.

She wasn't quite sure how long it had been since she'd been moved here, but she guessed it to be between several weeks and a few months. Every day, around mid-morning, the sun would peek in through a high window, journey across the dank, gritty floor, and pass out of view. Daily, Hermione would make the same journey across the floor – and at night, she'd crawl back to the beginning, placing her head in the same spot that had cradled it the previous morning, so she'd be sure to wake.

Today, though, she wished her cruel taskmaster would set and never rise to torment her again.

Mustering up a few extra scraps of energy, she pulled up her arm to smooth over her t-shirt, which resembled an old kitchen rag more than a pajama top a little more every day. Pain coursed down her arm and into her shoulder with a sickening sting, and though she opened her mouth to cry out, she shut it just as quickly.

Opening her mouth, like licking her lips, or sweating, or crying, only meant pain. They were only bringing her water every few days, and she was always unbearably thirsty.

But now there was something wrong with her arm.

She craned her neck to look at it, but it didn't look hurt. Just dirty and bruised. And skinny. Every vein stood dark on her otherwise pale.

She flexed her hand again, carefully, and was rewarded with another shock of pain. It was most certainly hurt.

The sound of footsteps made her grimace. The crawl over to the door to drink the water her captor would thrust in through a cracked door wasn't easy, and she reasoned a little more easily each time that the pursuit was simply not worth it.

This time, though, the door swung all the way open.

"Good morning, Granger," said the Death Eater. He was unmasked, and she recognized him from school. A Slytherin, of course. She knitted her eyebrows together, trying to remember a name.

He smiled. "Merlin, you can't will me dead with a glare."

She frowned. She hadn't been glaring.

The door shut with a quiet thud, and he crossed the distance that took her a full five minutes to traverse in a few easy strides. He knelt next to her and ran a hand through her hair, tsking over how matted the bushy curls had grown.

She briefly calculated the worth of trying to fight him and decided it would be better to let him have his way and then get back to her daily sunlit journey. He probably wouldn't hurt her any more than the others, anyway.

Instead, she concentrated on the patch of sunlight on the floor next to her, letting all of her other senses grow distant and echo-y in favor of experiencing naught but a yellow patch of warmth gracing the gravely floor.

So when her keeper lifted her into a sitting position, she barely noticed. When he murmured a few spells, the feeling of the magic under her skin was a faraway sensation. But when he took her left hand, the pain came flooding back into her being, throwing her back into the present.

"Don't!" she sobbed, clutching her arm to her chest. Startled, the man pulled back, then leaned in and cradled her, gently prying the limb from her grasp.

"There doesn't seem to be any injury—" he tried, but she stopped him, pulling it back.

"Please," she begged. "Please don't."

He tilted her head toward his. "I know you understand me quite well, for all your listlessness. Tell me, Granger. Where does it hurt?"

She hiccupped and gestured to her wrist.

"Magical or physical?"

She shook her head, and he sighed. "Either way, I'm not the best Healer." He paused, thinking. "I'll be back in a second. Here, take some water."

He pulled a cup from his cloak and whispered _Aguamenti_, and the glass filled with cool, clear water. He handed it to Hermione and stood, exiting the room while she tried not to gulp greedily.

He was back in a moment with a witch at his heels. The woman took the cup from Hermione and handed it to the man.

"Show me your arm, then," she said brusquely.

Hermione held out her arm and blinked. "Parkinson?" she breathed.

The witch rolled her eyes. "Yes, Granger. I'm going to fix your arm, because for some reason our darling Blaise thinks it's 'important enough' that he's not willing to risk doing it himself." She shook her head.

Hermione let Pansy uncurl her arm from her chest, watching carefully. The sharp tongued witch ran the cool wooden stick down Hermione's arm, tracing the veins that Hermione had seen earlier as though they were a road map to a destination.

"Salazar's arse, Blaise, could you keep the girl a little more emaciated?" she sneered, finally centering her wand on Hermione's wrist.

Hermione felt Blaise sit behind her, watching Parkinson's work closely. She felt vaguely grateful that she finally knew his name.

"Ah, I see. You broke a bone somewhere along the line, probably a very slight break – hairline – but it isn't healing properly." She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around Hermione's wrist and dangled it up so Blaise could see, dryly adding, "I wonder why?" as Hermione winced.

Blaise sighed. "So it's not magical?" he asked.

Pansy sneered. "Hardly. There are probably other things gone wrong since it hasn't healed, but really, you could have done it yourself. I don't care how rotten you are at healings. She's just a Mudblood."

"So you don't want the eight very easy Galleons I'll give you if you just shut up and do it, then?" he said with a low chuckle. Hermione couldn't see what he found funny about that, and the way Pansy was holding her arm was getting more painful by the second.

Pansy rolled her eyes again and brought her wand back to Hermione's wrist, uttering a few spells, and Hermione was relieved that she recognized each – one to heal the fracture, two for the tissue damage, another for the bruising, and a final one to relieve the pain.

Standing, Pansy slipped her wand back into her cloak. "There, all done. So, my eight Galleons – or if you'd rather, I'd settle for knowing why you called me and not Draco. He's a far better Healer than I pretend to be."

Blaise stood too, and Hermione felt very small, crouched on the floor between their long black cloaks. She wondered if this was how small children felt all the time. Or pets.

"If I know Draco, he's on a beach somewhere honeymooning and enjoying his blushing bride. That's why I called you. But here, take the money," he said, pulling a small drawstring bag from his pocket.

Pansy accepted it distractedly. "If _I_ know Draco – and I think you know what I mean by that – he'll never actually enjoy that blood-betraying little redhead."

Blaise coughed, and both witch and wizard looked down at Hermione, who stared up at Pansy openly. She couldn't mean…_Ginny_?

"Well," Pansy said slowly, "I suppose I ought to be going." She turned and left the room, and Hermione caught the light pop of Apparition from the hall.

Blaise, meanwhile, bent down and scooped her up in his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he carried her from the room, down a long corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down another corridor.

He paused in front of a wooden door and quietly said, "Do you remember, Granger, when I told you that I needed you to care?" She thought back, far, far back, and vaguely recalled a conversation from long ago. "It's time to start caring," he breathed, setting her down. She wavered, and he wrapped an arm around her waist before turning the handle and pushing open the door.

The room was larger, and though it was bare, it was actually a room and not a cell. Lying on a bed on the far side of the space was a figure with fire-red hair.

"Ron?" she breathed.

"'Fraid not, love," whispered Blaise, pushing her into the room. "This is his brother—Charlie.

* * *

Draco whipped a smooth flat stone over the calm pool and watched as the manor's reflection dissolved into a series of tiny ripples. He folded his arms stoically as the mid-afternoon light glittered across the surface of the water.

"I expected you to be engaged packing for your trip."

Draco picked up another rock and ran his thumb across the smooth surface. "The elves are taking care of it," he murmured.

Lucius nodded, stepping up to the edge of pool. The father and sun stared out over the water as the late-summer wind played out against their almost identical features, silently taking advantage of the silky blond hair of which both were so vain.

"In order for the next phase to work, you'll need some distance," Lucius said slowly, inclining his head to watch his son's hands fiddle with the smooth stone in his hand. "I've set up a household in London that should suffice."

"Oh, of course," Draco said. "The media will—"

"Yes. It'll be properly covered, as your honeymoon will be."

Draco closed his eyes, and a frail scowl flitted across his features.

"Complain, and I'll make it worse," Lucius admonished.

Draco opened his eyes and set his gaze fixedly on the water. "I better make sure that Ginevra is ready," he said slowly, and turned away.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Draco," he said warningly. He didn't turn to make sure that his son had stopped. He didn't need to.

"Yes, Father?" Draco responded from behind him, his voice chilly.

Lucius carefully measured a smile. "I would appreciate an update." He turned to Draco, whose knuckles were clenched around the rock he held. "Now."

"My father would like to know if I had an enjoyable wedding night?" Draco bit out.

"Not in the slightest." He smirked. "But your mother tells me you spent this morning in the library, which was…concerning."

Draco sighed. "Everything is fine. The initial tests were successful. But I had trouble discerning the immediate effects, so I thought that another look through the runes would be helpful."

"And you didn't come to me because…?" Lucius queried.

It appeared that Draco was trying to crush the rock in his fist. "I have it under control."

"I'll give you two weeks," Lucius said, equaling the ice in his son's tone, all traces of amusement gone from his voice. With that, he turned on his heel and returned to the house.

Draco stared at his father's retreating figure in the reflection of the pool. Without the pretense of even trying to skim it, he threw the stone into the water as hard as he could, and stalked off as the tiny waves broke on the flagstones.

* * *

Milly the house elf held up a satin black negligee in one hand and a sheer, pink baby doll in the other.

"Which garment would Madam prefer?" she asked in a high voice.

Ginny blanched. "Er, are you sure there is room? The trunk is awfully full," she reasoned.

The elf, quite detached from Ginny's discomfort, waved both the pink and the black above its head. "Which garment would Madam prefer?"

Ginny blushed, grabbed the pink organza from the creature, and threw it in the trunk. "There. Nothing else can fit. We are done."

The elf huffed indignantly. "Milly was instructed to prepare young Mrs. Malfoy for a honeymoon. Mrs. Malfoy has not packed swimwear." With that, it—she—stomped off toward Ginny's monstrous closet.

Ginny crumpled onto the bed and put her face in her hands. She didn't know if she even had swimwear, and based on the kinds of clothes Milly had packed for every other occasion, they weren't going to be the kind of bathing suits that her mum would approve of.

The fact that her mother-in-law had personally approved every item in the trunk, including the delicate organza lingerie, was not lost on her. She shivered despite the warm sun.

Sure enough, Milly returned with three scraps of fabric that looked more like headscarves then clothing. She asked archly, "Does Mistress have a color preference?" Ginny didn't respond, and the elf simply stuffed all three into the trunk.

"There. Mistress is packed."

"Ah, excellent, Milly. You're dismissed." Draco's voice came from the doorway, and Ginny looked up to find him leaning lazily against the frame.

Milly vanished with a loud pop, and Ginny winced.

"I think your elf hates me."

Draco lifted his eyebrows. "Well, you did grab her by the ears and hitch a ride not long ago."

"Oh, right," Ginny said quietly, closing the trunk. The lid banged down with an eager thud, and she ran her hand across the shiny brown leather then clicked the brass latch shut. "This is ready to go."

Draco performed a neat swish-and-flick, shrinking the trunk down to the size of a hatbox. He lifted it and handed it to her, then stood awkwardly for a moment, watching her trying balance the parcel against her hip.

"Don't you have, er, a bag or purse or something?"

Ginny looked at him quizzically. "No, I didn't know that I needed anything like that. Should I—"

"No, no," he cut her off, his eyes still on her hands. "I just—never mind. Let's be off. My trunk is in the hall, and we can just Apparate from the foyer," he said. "No need to tell anyone good-bye," he added, a bit sullenly.

Ginny, however, barely noticed his strange mood. The fact that there were, well, _intimate_ items in the parcel she carried hadn't been lost on her, and her stomach was bursting with obnoxious little butterflies that wouldn't seem to settle. She desperately didn't want to repeat the previous night, but she didn't know where to begin finding a way out of it. The vague notion that Draco seemed to be quite upset about something only made the anxious quaver worse. Butterflies seemed almost too pleasant a term. They were gnats, Ginny decided. Nervous, awful, buzzing gnats.

She followed him through the corridor anxiously, forgetting to marvel that her husband could find his way through this monstrosity of a house without having to stop and check his bearings periodically. But Draco found the foyer easily enough, and he stopped just inside the door to pull out his wand.

"Ready, Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked, smiling cheekily. He grabbed her suddenly about the waist and pulled her very close. Ginny gasped and very nearly dropped her trunk; in order to right herself, she had to grab onto his shirt.

"My, my, darling. Don't you think you should wait until we're _on_ the trip to rip my clothes off?"

Ginny blushed and decided she liked him better when he was sullen and silent. She took a deep breath and let go of his clothing.

"I don't see why you have to hold me so tightly," she said, glowering.

He smirked. "Can't have you getting away from me again," he said quietly, his eyes glinting with grey sparks. "Which reminds me…"

He grasped her hand and flipped it over, then whispered, "_Invenio Necto_," as he drew the end of his wand around the cluster of thin blue veins at the center of her wrist. To Ginny's horror, the skin turned white-hot, and the Malfoy crest again shone out from her skin. She couldn't help but cry out as the searing hot magic crept up her arm, wrapping itself through muscle and sinew with excruciating pain. She felt as if she might faint—and remembering the last time, she knew it was a definite possibility.

When the last of the spell fizzled away, she realized that she was once again clinging to Draco's shirt. He was holding her up; both of his arms were wrapped around her waist.

"I hope you've learned that particular lesson, _darling,_" he whispered slowly. "Because for all that has come to pass in the last few months, you are very much at my complete mercy. If you attempt to take advantage of my goodwill while you are outside of the confines of the manor, you will regret your actions for a long, long time. Do I make myself clear?"

Ginny's arm still ached, but she managed to meet his eyes and bite out a fierce "yes," which seemed to placate him. He shifted one arm free, though he kept his body pressed against hers.

"Then off we go," he said, and they Apparated with a pop.

Ginny had never Apparated across a great distance, and she decided that Portkey was far better for international travel. She was squeezed so tightly that she thought she would burst, and her fingers and nose felt so pinched that she was sure they would pop off and be splinched.

It was, therefore, with a gasping sob of a sigh that she landed on her bottom with a thump on an expanse of white sand.

Draco shook his head. "I think my mother is right. Your mastery of propriety is a lost cause."

Ginny glared up at him, which wasn't easy because the sky was an inky black, and the moon was low in the sky. She dusted the fine powdery sand from her hands and stood up, then hefted her miniaturized trunk. "Well?" she asked. "Where the dickens are we?"

Draco smirked knowingly. "A private island. Come." He turned and walked across the sand, and Ginny realized that he was dressed for tropical weather. She, on the other hand, was still in her berry-red dress—and heels. She had to jog to keep up with his long strides, and the sand murdered her already fragile ability to walk in the ridiculous shoes that Narcissa had assured her were of the highest taste.

The place, as far as Ginny could tell, was far, far away from Wiltshire. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the sea against the beach, somewhere behind her, and the air smelled sweet and tangy, and it was so thick with humidity that it felt weighty as she trudged through it. The island was also hot, despite the fact that it was clearly late at night. A breeze vaguely taunted the seashore, but for the most part, the heat beat through the humid air, unhampered.

In the time it took to walk from the beach to a quiet, lantern-lined path, Ginny's curls stuck to her forehead, and her dress grew damp with sweat. Draco, however, seemed unfazed. Of course, Ginny noted cynically, _he_ wasn't running in heels.

A bend in the path revealed a large, lit-up wooden house with, of all things, a thatched roof. The place was enormous; Ginny counted at least three balconies from her vantage point. The windows, of which there were dozens, glittered in the light of hundreds of smaller lanterns, reflecting the tall tops of the thickly leafed tropical trees that surrounded the home.

Draco reached the portico first and paused at the doors while Ginny caught up. "My, you're going to need to change into something cooler, aren't you?" he said wickedly. But before he could finish suggesting that different form of attire, a small brown house elf pushed open the door, and Ginny sighed as the cool air from inside the house wafted out over her.

"Sawasdee-ka, Khun Malfoy," said the elf, pressing its palms together as it ducked its head reverently.

"Sawasdee," Draco replied, pulling the door open and handing the elf his trunk. "Noi will take your luggage, Ginny."

Ginny gratefully handed the trunk to the small creature. It wasn't that heavy, but it was a little unwieldy, and the heat made carrying anything at all a rather miserable venture. "Thank you," she breathed, eager to step into the cool air.

"Mai bpen rai," responded the elf. Ginny looked to Draco, confused. He merely shot her another secretive smirk and held open the door, forcing her to brush past him in order to make it into the cool air inside the house.

She couldn't help but catch her breath—the place was beautiful. The roof was indeed thatched, but magnificently so; exposed rafters rose above her head, shining almost red against the high, golden open ceiling. The room was great and spacious, and Ginny was slightly relieved that there were no long corridors to lose oneself in here. The furniture was opulent but comfortable; Asian motifs graced the patterned rugs that decorated the dark wood floor and sheer silky curtains floated easily, filtering the gentle moonlight into a soft glow.

Draco had made a beeline for the bar and was pouring rum into a glass by the time she stopped staring.

"Draco," she said slowly, "_Where_ are we?"

He shrugged and downed the entire drink. "Private villa." Setting down the glass, he smirked again. "It's not fun to be in the dark, is it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Ginny set her teeth. His mood was a strange one today, and that did not bode well. His warning from earlier in the library was still a very conscious threat, and if she really was going to be at his mercy for the next several days—or weeks—she didn't want to play at guessing games.

"No, it isn't fun at all," she decided aloud.

"You really had better get changed." Draco said after a moment. "You're drenched."

She followed him to a large bedroom, musing that if she was going to spend the rest of her honeymoon following him around corridors and libraries and private beaches, she should probably just kill herself now and be done with it.

The bedroom mirrored the other room in décor, and even though the soft white fabric was inviting, Ginny tried to ignore the gigantic curtained bed that occupied the center of the room. Noi had returned both trunks to their normal size and was in the process of sorting the various items of clothing into drawers and closets. Draco walked over to a chest of drawers and selected something, which he tossed to Ginny.

"I'm not going to pick out your outfits like my mum, but I rather like you in green," he drawled as she unfurled an emerald green slip of a nightdress.

Ginny glared at him, but he ignored her, slipping off his shirt. He glanced at her with a small grin, which faded when her glare failed to dissipate.

He was inches away from her in just a few strides, and he grabbed her chin and tilted her face up to his so roughly that she couldn't hide the flinch.

"We can do this two ways, love. I'm keen on giving you a break and letting you go right to sleep tonight. Lord knows we've been through enough already. But push me, and so help me I'll undress you here and now—and then we'll think about whether you get to wear the pajamas."

Ginny angrily blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. "Can I change in the bathroom, then?" she asked, hating the tremor that she heard in her own voice.

Draco considered this for a moment. "No. Not if it'll teach you something to do it here," he said, his voice chilly. He still held her chin under his thumb and forefinger, and he brushed his other fingers across her cheek. His chest was bare, and Ginny could smell his subtle fragrance of vanilla and cologne.

"I don't think—" she began, but he merely arched an eyebrow and her courage evaporated.

"Now, Ginevra," he commanded in a low tone, his expression unreadable.

She closed her eyes and reached down to untie the wraparound dress.

"Ah," he said, cupping her cheek. "You don't get to close your eyes, either."

Ginny allowed herself the tiniest of sighs. She did not intend to crumble in front of this impossible man two nights in a row. She would dress for bed and maintain her dignity.

She opened her eyes and slipped the knot free, then quickly unwrapped the sash from around her waist. The deep red material came away easily, piling on the floor behind her. She stood in front of him in nothing but a matching red lace bra and knickers, and tried very, very hard not to feel humiliated.

He had, after all, seen more last night, she reminded herself. She stood there for a moment and swallowed.

He watched her coolly, as if the sight of her in her rather revealing undergarments didn't faze him in the slightest. "Well?" he asked after a moment.

Ginny blushed and reached for the nightie, which she had dropped onto the floor when Draco had grabbed her. Conscious of the vantage point this gave Draco—especially since she still hadn't unstrapped her high shoes—she hurriedly righted herself, teetering precariously.

"Shoes off," he ordered quietly.

Biting her lip, Ginny sat on the edge of the bed and slipped the thin straps through the tiny buckles, then kicked the expensive shoes to the floor. She felt strangely like crying, as though he was asking her to do far more than just get dressed for bed. She wished he would leave her alone, or at least get undressed himself. It seemed like he was intent on causing her as much discomfort as possible—which, she realized, he probably was.

She made to pull the satin slip of a gown over her head when he stopped her, wrapping his cool fingers around her wrist.

"Do you always sleep in that?" he asked softly, gesturing to her bra and knickers.

Ginny couldn't help it. She blushed crimson and opened and closed her mouth, then settled on biting her lip again.

"Turn," he ordered, and since she was too flustered to do otherwise, she obeyed. She felt his hands at her back, gently skimming her skin. He made light work of her bra clasp, then slowly drew the straps from her shoulders. She could feel his breath at her ear as he let the material fall away, exposing her chest to the cold air. She let out a shiver that was very nearly a whimper.

Still behind her, he pried the gown from her tight grasp and lifted it over her head. She slipped her arms through the soft material and cursed herself for enabling him to manipulate her so very easily.

He turned her around again, his face still unreadable.

"I trust you'll watch the way you look at me," he said. "If you wish to do anything else, the bathroom is through that door."

Still scarlet with humiliation, Ginny couldn't make her way there fast enough.

By the time she had washed her face and completed her other nighttime rituals, Draco was lounging on the bed, wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms. He was again reading through the Runes he'd spent the morning copying, his head bowed over the small characters. His hair fell in front of his face, and he pushed it away impatiently before dropped the sheaf of parchment to the bed.

"I thought you had it all translated," Ginny said from the doorway.

He looked up, half-scowling. "I do. But something isn't right." He sighed. "Get into bed. I know it's only seven in the evening at home, but here it's nearly two in the morning, and I can't have you exhausted tomorrow."

"Perhaps there's a portion of the spell missing," Ginny thought aloud, climbing into the giant bed. It could have easily slept her entire family, Percy included.

Draco lay back, resting his arm behind his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he agreed.

Ginny copied him, then thought for a moment. "Draco?"

"Hm?"

"If we're on a honeymoon, in a private villa on a private island, why does it matter if I'm tired tomorrow?"

Draco rolled over and rested his chin on his hand, looking down at her. "Because," he drawled, "the paparazzi are going to expect a proper show from Wizarding England's happiest, most in-love newlyweds."

He dropped his head to his pillow with a wicked smirk. "And I'd hate for you to disappoint them."

* * *

A/N: I think I downright _love_ this chapter. I hope you did too. I'll downright love you if you take a moment to review and tell me why.

Oh, I'm also planning to give drabbles away to reviewers who guess the location of Draco's island, but you're on your honor not to cheat and search it. ;) If you're right, I'll let you know in my review reply -- and I'll ask you for a drabble prompt then.

Also, if you have strong feelings about the Hermione situation, do share. I'm...undecided.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I know. I'm alive and well, though chagrined that it's taken me this long to manage to write this. If you need to re-read the last few chapters, I certainly won't judge. (I re-read the whole thing. Multiple times).

This chapter is a birthday present for the lovely Lunar Fire, whose birthday was roughly eight months ago. Dash it all, it's been a wild eight months. I suppose we could say that this is just four months early for her next one. Either way, she's wonderful, and I hope that someday she'll forgive me. ;)

* * *

Ginny woke just as the faint light of the early sun began to creep over the calm ocean. With a small sigh, she rolled onto her side to gaze out of the window, which was situated elegantly among the leafy branches of the jungle trees, offering a clear, picturesque view of the sandy shore.

Her heart twisted at the lovely sight. She cast a glance at Draco, who was sprawled almost sideways across the bed and, seeing that he was sound asleep, she slipped the cool sheet off and gently set her feet on the floor.

Opening the wardrobe, she found a light, summery dress in the closet and pulled it over her head. She glanced in the mirror out of habit and chose to ignore the mad mess of red waves that fell around her face, determined that Narcissa's insistence on a perfect coif would not extend to—wherever they were. It suddenly occurred to her that Draco had never told her where he'd taken her.

Still barefoot—she couldn't find a decent, heel-less pair of shoes anywhere—she padded across the teak floor and slipped out of the first door she found. The island's air had cooled during the night, but it was still thick with humidity. Ginny carefully shut the door and peered around, but the island seemed void of any signs of life beyond the cheerful early morning birdsong, which sounded foreign and exotic as it echoed through the damp air.

A sandy path led from the back of the house to a winding trail through the jungle, which Ginny quickly realized was too manicured to resemble an actual rainforest. Neatly trimmed palm trees spread their long arms neatly over the trail, and bright orange and purple Bird of Paradise flowers popped out from among the verdant undergrowth. Just where the path met the sprawling white of the sandy beach, a sprawling bougainvillea bush cascaded magenta blossoms into the sand.

Ginny sighed deeply. Despite the circumstances that had brought her here, she couldn't deny the island's inherent beauty. She dug her feet into the sand and let the dewy morning breeze toy with her unkempt hair as she gazed out over the calm aquamarine sea. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, and Ginny couldn't deny herself a good old-fashioned wade. She walked into the surf up to her knees, soaking the hem of her sundress in the cool salt water. She grazed her fingertips along the gently undulating surface of the water and inhaled.

How could there be evil in such a world as this?

She bit her lip absentmindedly, wondering if Draco would be upset to find her out here, and mused that he'd probably be more upset upon waking up alone. That probably would mean he'd come looking for her, and Ginny didn't feel like a confrontation this morning. After encountering the beautiful ocean—and after that awful incident last night—the idea sent something sharp through her heart.

Mournfully, she walked out of the ocean and up to the path. Sand clung to her calves and the once-light summery dress hung limply around her knees, sodden three inches above the hem. Her hair, well-whipped by the wind, framed her face in long, hanging tendrils that matched the vines along the path. Ginny idly brushed the locks aside as slipped back to the villa, blissfully unaware of her entirely disheveled state.

Quietly, she slipped off the wet dress and used it to dust the sand from her legs before tugging the loathed green nightdress back over her head and crawling back in-between the white sheets. Draco groaned in his sleep, and Ginny forced herself to inch down slowly to rest her head on the pillow, curling onto her side, away from him. The knowledge that he was sharing her bed, sprawled out just within arm's reach and breathing quietly, was hard to comprehend. She turned her attention inward instead and focused on her own breathing, closing her eyes and wondering if this was what her former teacher, Professor Trelawney, had meant by meditation.

When she next opened her eyes, the sunlight had shifted across the room, resting in rectangles of gold on the far wall.

"Good morning, darling," Draco murmured. His voice was thick with sleep and a bit of sarcasm, but he'd propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over her. With his free hand, he tugged on her shoulder so that she rolled toward him, lying on her back. He smirked down at her. "Sleep well?" he inquired, as if amused by the pleasantry.

Ginny groaned and rubbed her cheek, feeling the delicate groove left by the seam of her pillowcase. "I feel like I've been too close to the Whomping Willow," she said grouchily.

He lowered his eyebrows. "That's the time difference. You've never traveled this far, I daresay?" Ginny shook her head. "Noi will have a draught for that," he said, and snapped his fingers elegantly.

The small house elf appeared in the doorframe with a pop and saluted them with a small bow, palms pressed together at her chin.

"A Time Lag potion for Miss—Mrs. Malfoy, Noi. And breakfast in half an hour."

The elf bowed in the same manner and disappeared.

"Ohhh," Ginny groaned, rolling over. She hadn't felt like this when she'd woken at dawn. "What time is it?"

"Nearly ten. I'm amazed that you slept this long," Draco drawled as he slid off the bed and padded over to the wardrobe. He opened it and pulled out a shirt of white linen. "It should be quite warm today," he commented. "Winky should have packed accordingly, but if you need anything, just ask."

Ginny sat up and drew the soft sheets up over her knees. "Oh. Er, should I dress for anything special?"

He was flipping through a stack of trousers and didn't look up. "We'll spend the day on the beach. In the water if you'd like."

Ginny nodded and tried to stifle the need to say something else. The silence felt awkward and pressing, and it was a strange realization that she had nothing really to say to Draco. She let her hands toy with the sheet in her lap as she silently watched him select a pair of tan trousers. He laid these on the edge of the bed and folded his arms, observing her. She fought the temptation to draw her knees into her chest.

"I'm going to take a quick shower. If you need anything, Noi will help you."

She let her hands fall idly to her lap when the door to the bath closed. Slowly, she scooched out of the cool covers and felt the warm, late-morning light envelope her skin. Even with the cooling charms, the air felt thick with heat.

Ginny lingered for a moment in the sunlight before she crossed the room to open the closet, sliding her hands against the array of colors and fabrics inside. So far she'd had her clothing laid out every morning—a thought that reminded her of the berry-red wrap dress that Draco's hands had untied the previous night. She glanced compulsively at the floor, but the garment was gone. Noi was a thorough creature.

A simple white and green sundress caught her eye, and she threw it on the bed, where it landed next to Draco's clothes. A funny laugh bubbled up in Ginny's stomach. The clothes spread across the bed looked so normal, like she and Draco were a real couple, choosing outfits for their first day on a paradisiacal honeymoon.

The laugh died away as Ginny fingered the satin of her nightie and stretched it up over her head. She found new undergarments and put them on hurriedly, realizing that the steady stream of water in the next room wouldn't continue forever. She didn't feel like having Draco find her mid-change.

The sundress was light and airy, not unlike the one she'd slipped on at dawn. She tugged the straps to rest across the freckles on her shoulders just as Noi entered, bearing a small vial on a polished hardwood salver.

The elf bowed. "A time lag draught for Mrs. Malfoy," she said in a soft voice.

"Oh," Ginny said, mildly startled. "Yes, um. Do I just—do I just drink it?"

The elf looked up. "If Mistress wishes, Noi shall bring the Mistress some tea with which to mix the draught."

"Does Draco—Mr. Malfoy—mix his with tea?" Ginny inquired, lifting the potion and studying it. It was a cerulean blue, but she remembered from Potions that the faint tones of purple in the meniscus meant that the concoction would have a strong, bitter taste.

The elf bowed again. "No, the Master has never requested tea."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, popped off the lip of the small vial and tipped the contents into her mouth, downing them in one horribly bitter gulp. She choked slightly at the harsh aftertaste, which reminded her of the bottom of a strong cup of coffee.

"Tea now, Mistress?" Noi asked brightly.

Ginny coughed. "Yes, tea. Or better yet, breakfast."

"Mistress will want to prepare her face and hair first?" queried the elf.

Ginny glanced in the mirror. Her hair, which had been a snarled mess before she'd subjected it to the humid dawn and then slept on it for several more hours, was a wreck. She sighed miserably. Without magic, it would take ages to repair.

"I don't suppose you're able to fix them for me?" she asked glumly.

Noi pointed at the teak vanity and Ginny obliged, sitting in front of the mirror. The elf knew her craft well, and in a matter of moments Ginny's hair fell in loose waves. She glanced up at her reflection and was startled to realize that she was vaguely pleased with her appearance.

The water in the bathroom finally ceased its steady thrumming against the tiles—it was no surprise that Draco took ridiculously long showers, but Ginny had no desire to remain in the room long enough to see him clad in a robe. Or a towel. Or … she cut her imagination off sharply and swallowed nervously.

"I'd like my breakfast now," Ginny said, throwing a glance at the closed door.

She followed the elf down the shiny, dark wood of the short corridor into a cozy little breakfast room. The walls were paneled with a light, cheery wood, and floor length windows breathed in and out, drawing the sheer white curtains in sweeping paths as the late morning sunlight floated in.

Noi lifted the covers from the table to reveal an array of breakfast foods, from muffins and soft-boiled eggs to a plate of pineapple and a bowl of what looked like rice porridge.

"Er, what is that?" Ginny asked.

Noi glanced at the table. "Kao tom, Mistress. Rice soup."

Ginny swallowed and helped herself to a muffin, pleased to find it studded with blueberries. She had enough adventure in her life without "kao tom" for breakfast.

"You said you slept well?" drawled a cool voice. Draco walked into the breakfast room and sat down across from her. He smoothly selected a croissant and began to butter it, then looked up at her expectantly. "That wasn't rhetorical, darling."

She hated the way he dragged out the word darling. As if it was an insult, and as if he enjoyed it. She set down her muffin and speared a slice of pineapple with her fork.

"I took the draught and I feel much better," she said. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, and she floundered for a moment. "I slept perfectly," she lied, biting into the yellow fruit. It was unbelievably sweet and perfectly tangy.

"That's unusual," Draco remarked, brushing some invisible crumbs from his jacket. "Normally, due to the time difference, travelers sleep fitfully. And they wake up at odd times."

Ginny decided to butter her muffin, carefully avoiding his eyes while she considered this. It was possible that he had woken up while she was at the beach and missed her, but he would have come to find her, or maybe waited up for her to return.

"Did you not sleep well?" she asked. Maybe firing questions back would be the best defense. It had worked with Hermione, who also liked to pry.

Draco smiled slowly. "I'm quite used to handling the lag. It's never easy, but, yes, I slept well."

"That's good," Ginny said affably, biting into her breakfast. Draco pulled out a thin magazine—a Witch Weekly update—and slid it across the table. He folded his arms and smirked as Ginny choked on her muffin.

The witch on the cover was her.

Draco leaned forward, still smiling, but his eyes were deadly. "Did you, or did you not, learn a lesson about telling me lies?"

"W-Why am I on the cover of that—that rag?" Ginny spluttered.

Draco snapped the shiny pages off the table before she could reach them and read aloud, "The new Mrs. Malfoy appeared alone on the beaches of Koh Nam Wan this morning, and she looks quite comfortable in a simple cotton dress as she wades in the ocean just after dawn. After over two weeks of silence from Wizardkind's happiest young couple, it's no wonder her hair looks like she's been abed for ages!"

Ginny blanched. "That's ridiculous," she said quietly. "No one is going to believe that garbage."

Draco snapped the pages shut and glared at her. "Oh, they will. People will believe all the crap my father feeds them through these silly publications. And we'll give them plenty. They'll be lapping it up like dogs."

"I'm not giving anyone anything," Ginny said darkly. "Your father can give them whatever he likes, but if that means I can't go outside, I'll spend the whole time hidden in here!" She stood, nearly knocking over her goblet of orange juice.

Draco was on his feet just as quickly, and his hands found her shoulders and jerked them tightly toward him, impeding her flight from the room.

"Now, now, little Ginny," he said, using her pet name in a way that gave her chills, "I think I'm in the mood for a swim."

* * *

Hermione Granger woke up to the sound of a heavy snore.

"Ron_ald_," she groaned sleepily. "Be _quiet_."

Lucid thoughts filled her mind. With a flash of comprehension and sorrow, she realized that Ron was probably dead if Ginny was with Malfoy. Harry – it hurt just to think about them. It was far, far easier to stay asleep.

But the snoring was real, and so was the head of bright hair, resting on a pillow on the mattress next to hers. Charlie.

Hermione idly clutched her newly-healed wrist. Zabini had locked her in this room with the unconscious man yesterday—she was pretty sure it was yesterday—and though the light fare she'd been given made rational thought a possibility for the first time in weeks, the silence interrupted by the loud Weasley snore was maddening in its own right.

After eating the meal last night, she'd worked up the nerve to poke her companion. He hadn't responded when she touched him, and he remained still when she traced the jagged scars and newly-healed burns on his bare forearms with a light finger.

Sunlight stole across the room now. Morning light, full of gold. It was amazing how one meal made the world so much sharper. Hermione clutched her knees to her chest and nestled into the mattress, which smelled slightly of old clothes and wet dog, but was comfortable beyond imagination after months of stone floor.

A snore cut into these oddly reassuring observations.

"Charlie," she whispered. "Please, stop."

Her voice rasped and felt odd in her mouth. She licked her lips and repeated herself. "Charlie, _please_."

As if by magic, he rolled over, and was quiet.

She sighed with relief and dozed, staring at the way his shoulder moved gently with the rise and fall of his breath, and thought about what Pansy had let slip: "he'll never actually enjoy that blood-betraying little redhead."

Pansy _must_ have meant Ginny. There were no other red-haired female members of the Order, unless he meant Molly, which was ridiculous. As for other possible witches – Hermione's mind flicked rapidly through her memory, but there was no one else it could be. But if Ginny was married to Malfoy—she couldn't finish the thought. Hermione turned and pressed her face into the mattress, as if burying it would undo the logic that turned her blood so cold. Perhaps being starved into delirium was a better fate.

The bolt of the door clicked open, but Hermione didn't move. She kept her nose pressed into the squashy mattress and her eyes screwed tightly shut. She didn't need to see. Didn't need to know. It was better if she couldn't understand, couldn't reason, couldn't think.

"Hermione." Zabini's voice was soft and gentle, as if he was speaking to a frightened child. He came close, and crouched between the two low beds. "Hermione, I need you to respond."

She didn't move.

"Do you care about Charlie?" he asked quietly.

He wasn't there. He wasn't there. He wasn't there.

"Hermione," he said again, still gentle, but not quite as softly. "I don't want to have to hurt him any more than I need to."

The only thing that existed in the world was the mattress.

"_Secto_," he whispered. Her heart pounded in her ears. She knew what that harsh, short word meant, and she recoiled from the mattress in time to see a slow trail of blood ooze from the forearm she'd traced earlier. With a wave of nausea, she recognized that not all those scars came from dragons.

"Good," said Zabini, his voice mild. "You care."

She stared at him, unwilling to let that strange voice out of her head. His dark eyes flicked over her face, questioning, as he drew two more bloody gashes in Charlie's skin.

"One for every time I called your name," he said, shaking his head as he stood. He pulled a roll of white fabric and a small jar from the inner pocket of his robes and held them out to her. She reached up tentatively, feeling the cool weight of the thick, smooth glass.

"There, now. Take good care of him for me," he said with a smile, and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Hermione turned the jar in her hands. It was unlabeled, but she opened it and knew instantly that it was a basic salve, good for speeding the healing process and relieving pain. The cloth, she realized more slowly, was a bandage.

She swallowed and looked at Charlie's arm, feeling sick over far more than the blood that oozed in three even rivulets down to his wrist.

* * *

Ginny sat sullenly on the silk-covered chaise in the corner of the bedroom, willing her shoulders to forget the feeling of Draco's tight hold. He'd dragged her from the breakfast room back in here with such a dangerous expression that she hadn't even tried to fight, but after a full quarter hour of silence from his half of the room, her fear had morphed into an angry, sulky resentment.

"I didn't finish my breakfast," she said, well aware that she sounded like a child.

Draco continued shifting through the mahogany wardrobe. "You'll live."

"Unfortunately," she snapped.

That earned her a sharp glance. Rebellion swelled in her chest. She stood up and walked toward the door.

"You will not leave the room," he said calmly, his back toward her.

"I'm hungry, and I'm going to get more pineapple." She tried to keep her voice cold and sharp, but it didn't seem to have an effect on him. He was still hunting through the wardrobe.

"Do we need to review the rules about obedience?" he said to the racks of clothes. Ginny gaped openly as the torrential flood of emotions that had been building steadily finally boiled over.

"_Enough!_ Enough with the rules, and the lessons, and the 'little Ginny.' I'm not your toy, or your slave, or even your wife—not really. You're doing nothing more than holding me against my will—and—and—I'm _not _your wife. I'm your enemy!" She paused and inhaled deeply, trying to bring some sense back into her flushed head before he turned around to face her.

He didn't move. "The two are not mutually exclusive," he said, no emotion in his voice. "Go sit down."

She gaped for a moment, then turning on her heel, she stormed out of the room. The adrenaline was exhilarating for the full five steps she took past the doorway, until the sharp "immobulus" jetted down the hall and into her back, freezing her where she stood.

She waited for the tight grasp of his hands, the menacing drawl, the "how dare you defy me" speech, but there was none. He left her there, frozen in the sunny corridor, for what felt like an age.

Her emotions cycled between rage, fear, hurt, and then back to rage. The impetuous anger she'd felt earlier settled into a neater sort of hatred and, as the sense of powerlessness washed over her once more, she felt cool tears prickle in her eyes.

He finally came to stand in front of her and regarded her passively. His hair was tousled, but nothing else hinted at what he'd been doing in the bedroom. He unfolded his arms and sighed, releasing her from the jinx.

"May I trust there will be no more outbursts today?" His voice reminded her of an irritated parent. But now that she was able to wipe those traitorous tears from her cheeks, she couldn't argue. She merely swallowed and looked at him, unwilling to speak, but not allowing herself to nod.

He seemed satisfied and pointed back toward the bedroom, and she followed him. He handed her a few scraps of green fabric.

"We're going to the beach," he said coolly. "I'll leave so you can put that on."

He closed the door with a quiet click. Ginny let the tiny bikini fall from her hands onto the bed as strangled tears threatened the emotions that were barely registering in her brain, like iridescent oil on top of water. With fumbling fingers, she pulled the dress off her body and tied on the swimsuit.

It covered more than she'd imagined it would, but she still hurriedly tugged on the beach wrap she'd found on the edge of the bed. She felt humiliated enough without having to display her freckled skin for the world to see.

A knock at the door was followed by, "Ginevra? Are you quite finished?"

She opened it, carefully masking her features to hide the varied shame, embarrassment, and anger from him. "I can't find any shoes."

He looked at her feet. "That didn't seem to matter to you this morning," he said, turning to leave.

She padded after him, and he led her out of the villa into the bright sunlight. Now that it was about noon, the heat was stifling. The wrap, which had felt nice and airy indoors, was instantly clingy. The sunlight beat down oppressively, as if it was trying to smash the two of them into the ground. In the tree-lined walkway, the shade offered no respite; the humidity was unbearable, and Ginny could feel her hair beginning to stick to her temples.

They took a different fork in the path than she'd traveled earlier and Draco startled her by suddenly reaching out and wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. She moved to pull away, but his fingertips bit into the soft skin of her stomach fiercely.

"I will place you under the _Imperius_ curse again. Don't test me," he whispered harshly, and she forced herself to relax into his "embrace."

They came out of the pseudo-jungle onto another smooth expanse of beach. The ocean sparkled brilliantly in the cloudless sky, and the sand multiplied the brightness to an almost blinding degree. A thatched bamboo structure protected two comfortable lounge chairs from the sun, and a bar stood prepared with towels and drinks.

As soon as they entered the shade, both exhaled. A mild cooling charm kept out the worst of the heat, but Ginny still greedily accepted the cold glass Draco handed her. It was sweet, like the pineapple she'd tasted at breakfast, and she realized suddenly that it contained more than juice. She hastily set the beverage down on the arm of a chair; the day was complicated enough without alcohol.

Draco leaned back on one of the lounge chairs and patted the space next to him. "Sit," he said tiredly.

"There are two chairs," she said stupidly.

He raised an eyebrow. "And there are two photographers. Sit."

She whipped her head around to peer into the jungle, but saw nothing but broad leaves hanging limply in the humid air. Still, the Witch Weekly update this morning proved that he wasn't lying. She licked her lips and sat down next to him, and didn't resist when he pulled her down to lie alongside him so that her head rested on his shoulder. He stroked her hair absently and sighed.

"So we just … sit here? And have our picture taken by invisible paparazzi?"

She felt him nod.

"And this charade is your father's idea?"

He stiffened slightly and her heart jumped with realization. "You're only doing any of this because he's making you," she accused quietly.

His hand caught painfully in her hair. "I'm doing this because the media coverage of the Weasley daughter cuddling up to me on a tropical honeymoon is going to further my popularity."

But she was too elated with her new-found knowledge to heed the warning. "Because your daddy wants you to be popular, right?" she said giddily.

She felt his control snap as his muscles tightened, and suddenly he was above her instead of beneath her, pushing her back into the soft cotton of the lounge chair. She struggled under him for half a second, suddenly too warm despite the charm, before his hands caught her wrists.

"You're lucky there are cameras," he snarled, and before she could protest, he covered her mouth with a rough kiss. She didn't return it, but he didn't seem to mind. He raised a hand to her jaw and lifted her face toward his, taking his time. He didn't let up until she stopped fighting and allowed him to tilt her chin. He ended the kiss slowly, opposite how he'd begun it, but the look in his eyes chilled her blood. He was furious.

He stroked her hair gently, smiling affectionately. "I don't like it when you speak ill of my father, darling," he drawled. "Do it again, and I'll place you under a nice little curse that will lend an entirely new meaning to humiliation. Now, be a good girl and kiss me."

She felt hot all over, but she reached up tentatively and placed her hand on the back of his neck, lifting her lips to brush his in a gentle kiss.

He returned it, then pulled away to sit up on the edge of the lounge. "I need a drink," he muttered, standing. Ginny watched him walk to the bar, but she wrenched her eyes away to look out over the sparkling water. She felt overwhelmingly confused.

"I believe I was in the mood for a swim earlier," he drawled from behind her.

"I'm enjoying the view," she said in a tight voice, glancing back at him. He shook his head and began to unbutton his shirt. She looked away, staring into the sunshine as he stripped down to his swim shorts. Very studiously, she tried to ignore the fact that he was taking off his clothes until he stood in front of her, half-naked. She swallowed.

"I'd like to not win the Dullest Honeymoon of the Year contest," he said sarcastically.

"Is there such a thing?" Ginny said, craning her neck to look at the jungle to her left.

He shrugged. "It's all about the envy of the masses. You're well on your way to being the most envied witch in England," he said, glancing down at his own bare chest. "And I _will _be equally envied. Off with that," he ordered, gesturing at her wrap.

She clutched it unconsciously. "I'm no mindless trophy wife, Draco," she hissed angrily.

He drew out his wand and smiled. "Want to become one?"

"So quick to threaten, and yet—"

"_Imperio_."

Ginny fought him for all the time it took to turn her head back toward his. She felt the same vague feeling that she remembered from the engagement sink through her, as her will receded and his rose. She felt her mouth spread in a slow grin as her knees pulled up on the lounge, allowing him space to sit down. She felt strangely carefree as all the confusion of the previous hour—no, months—faded into oblivion.

Draco laid a hand on her thigh and drew her close for another kiss. A small voice informed her that she should be resisting this onslaught against her will, but he brushed away the voice as easily as he brushed aside her hair. His hands drifted down to the tightly tied halter at her neck, and he kissed her again as his fingers loosened the knot.

The light cotton material fell away from her skin, and Draco paused. Ginny continued to smile, unfazed by the breeze caressing her bare stomach. He leaned in again and brushed his lips against hers very, very softly, and then stood, offering her a hand. She took it without hesitating, allowing him to pull her into a romantic embrace.

"Is this easier, Gin?" he whispered, and she was torn. It was, and yet—

Draco interrupted the small rebel in her brain. "I'm not doing this," he said, taking her chin roughly and tilting her face up toward his. "There's a reason this spell is—I'm not going to do this. But I need you to stop fighting me."

His words barely registered. The more tightly he held her, the more airy she felt, until, cursing under his breath, he released her from the spell. She collapsed against him, then was suddenly aware of how much of her skin was in contact with his. She attempted to pull away, but he wouldn't allow her to move.

"I don't want to do that again," he said into her ear, and she could tell that he was keeping her in a photo-friendly pose. "I need you to stop fighting me. Especially while we're out here."

She inhaled slowly, smelling him along with the salty, tangy island air. "Why?" she breathed, experimenting.

He was silent for a long moment. "Because we have enough to worry about as is," he said finally.

Ginny felt like she was walking over thin ice, trying to get as far as she could before it cracked. "Like what?"

"Don't test me," he said sharply. "Learn not to do that, and someday, I might tell you."

With that, he pulled away and looked her over. She fought the temptation to grab the wrap off the chaise, trying to reason with her self that the bikini was okay, and that he'd seen it all already, but still her cheeks flamed, over-warm in the hot day.

He reached for her hand and they crossed the sand down to the shore, just to where the waves lapped gently across their ankles and filled up their wet footprints with whorls of foamy water. They walked along the surf, hand in hand, in utter silence.

* * *

Though often silent by choice, Narcissa Malfoy was rarely speechless. However, the sight of her husband smiling while scanning the glossy pages of Witch Weekly was enough to discomfit the society woman.

"Have you seen these, Narcissa?" he asked with the hint of a chuckle.

She crinkled her nose. "I only touch them if it becomes apparent that I need to contact our attorney about a potential libel suit. The society pages in The Prophet are a much better representation of—"

She stopped cold. Lucius had opened the magazine to a two-page spread of photos and held it up to her face. The idyllic scene showed a lush tropical beach with calm aquamarine waters lapping at the white sand that spread along the edge of the island until it curved out of sight. The jungle rose up on hills in the background, but Narcissa's eye went straight toward the sole occupants of the scene: a blond and a redhead, standing in the surf and kissing passionately.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "So he's taken her to Thailand. I would have chosen the Italian villa, if I were him."

Lucius smirked. "No, the island is much more amenable to this kind of thing," he said, gesturing at the photo spread. "Which is precisely why I suggested it."

She shook her head. "It seems so … so base."

Lucius flipped the page. "Of course it's base," he murmured quietly, taking in the pictures of his son and his bride. "That's the entire point."

Narcissa frowned, but sat down gracefully. "I suppose I'll have to explain things all over again to Mrs. Greengrass."

Lucius nodded. "And issue a statement decrying the publication of such intimate moments. This sort of thing is shameful and invasive of our privacy. Or however you'd like to word it."

"What of your concerns about—about the spell?"

"Draco has two weeks. If he can't determine the lasting effects of the _Sang Primoris_ by then, I'll take the girl's situation into my own hands."

Narcissa stood and smoothed the folds of her gown as she approached him. "Won't that complicate the next phase of the plan?" she inquired.

"Infinitely. But complications are better than the alternative." Lucius said, grasping her hand and kissing the fingertips. "I'll send him an owl, just to be doubly sure."

She smiled and turned toward the door, then paused. "Lucius, what about Shacklebolt?"

Lucius waved vaguely. "Nothing to fret about. Draco's young friend will ensure that Kingsley Shacklebolt is well out of our way, and I trust he'll do it with plenty of time to spare."

He glanced down as she left the room, smiling over the headline that danced in dazzling letters above the embracing lovers on the private beach: _From Rivalry to Romance – Exclusive Pictures of the Passionate Honeymoon!_

_Yes_, Lucius thought. _Shacklebolt was nothing to worry about._

* * *

**A/N:** When I started this story, I was between jobs and thought nothing of spending hours writing. Now, over two years later, I have three jobs and hardly any stretches of writing time. It's incredibly lame.

That's not an excuse, but rather an explanation for my incredible gratitude to you, my readers and reviewers. I write to become a better writer, but you guys are the reason I keep plugging away. It's fluffy but true: without the encouragement and feedback from ALL of you, I would have definitely reneged on my word and abandoned this story a long time ago. But I _won't_, because you're amazing.

And you're going to continue to send me lovely reviews to encourage/advise/thank/threaten me, right? ^_~ You have my undying love. Thank you.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I meant what I said and I said what I meant, and I'm not abandoning this story, 100%.

If you've been following this story from its early days, it might interest you to know that I have been revising the story to correct grammar and spelling and have made some _very minor_ changes to the story as well. As of this posting, I've finished the first five chapters.

* * *

Ginny padded across the sparkling white sand to the edge of the dewy-green sea. The water waved over the flat, packed surface and ran back away from the shore in foamy rivulets, grazing over her bare toes.

She waded into the warm, clear water, letting it come up to her ankles and then her knees. She'd never known that the ocean could be so warm and inviting. Downright gentle, really. The slow waves tickled her thighs as the sparkling surface came up toward her in smooth rolls.

"Ginevra!"

Her fingers, which grazed the surface of the sea, dropped her sides. "Yes?" she called out over the expanse of water, which now covered her navel. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of turning around.

"Come here," he ordered. Then, a moment later he tacked on, "Darling."

She rolled her eyes up toward the sky. And he said she wasn't good at putting on a show. "I'm wading right now. Darling."

A splash behind her caught her off guard, and she turned in time to watch him cut through the shallow water with long, even strokes. He was beside her in a matter of seconds, and the water dripped lazily off his body as he stood and rested his hands lightly on her bare waist.

"You really want to fight with me again?" he drawled into her ear before kissing her neck. Ginny swallowed, tempted to shove him into an oncoming wave—and simultaneously tempted to tip her head back to offer his lips better access.

His hands traveled up her bare back and toyed with the knot at the back of her bikini. "Dare me, dearest?" he mocked, peppering her jaw with light kisses. He was so unbelievably close; she couldn't help but watch the sparkling drops of water sliding down his bare chest—

"Untie it?" she asked in horror, forgetting all about droplets as his intention sunk in. "You can't!"

"Oh, can't I?" he said, smirking.

Ginny shuddered. "The photographers, they'll—it'll be all over the—"

"The papers?" he clarified between kisses. "No. I sent all the paparazzi home for the day.  
They're all back in England busily writing about the carefree relaxation of the Malfoy newlyweds."

Ginny relaxed for a brief moment, but then suddenly felt frozen.

If there were no photographers lurking nearby, ready to believe their happy charade, why was Draco kissing her? His hands were on the tie of her bikini—

With a jolt, she sat bolt upright in bed and glanced to her left, where Draco was asleep on the far side of the bed. His chest rose and fell evenly under the thin white sheet, and Ginny fought to steady her own breath. She could still feel his hands on her waist. Cautiously, she slid out of bed and threw a thin silk robe over her shoulders before slipping out of the bedroom.

The time difference seemed to affect Ginny despite all the bitter potions to fix her internal clock, and dreams like that didn't help.

Noi was already in the kitchen, chopping up a bright yellow pineapple. Ginny had noticed that the elf used relatively little magic to cook and clean, which seemed unusual since the house elves at school seemed to use nothing but magic.

"Uh, good morning," Ginny said, and Noi turned to face her, pressing her palms together with a slight bow.

"Sawasdee, Mrs. Malfoy. Can Noi be of service?"

Ginny hesitated. "Er, I was thinking of going outside? Perhaps down to the beach . . . I've been cooped up for a few days now, and—"

Noi smiled. "Mrs. Malfoy is welcome to go out on the veranda to enjoy the beautiful morning sunrise. Noi will see to it that the mistress is appropriately ready."

She hopped down from her stool and walked back to the bedroom. Ginny paused at the doorway, watching Noi silently open the door to the master bath and gestured for Ginny to follow. Draco sighed in his sleep as Ginny shut the door behind herself.

Her toilette was simple. "Mrs. Malfoy is just out of bed," Noi said sweetly, combing Ginny's bed-tousled hair into waves that framed her face. "Her hair is in a relaxed fashion." She helped her into a different silk robe and offered some matching sandals, which Ginny declined.

They crept past Draco, still asleep, and Noi curtsied. "You are ready to go out. Would you care for a breakfast? Or perhaps a tea?"

Ginny took the tea, which was an iced, sweet concoction that Noi called cha-yen, and stole out onto the balcony before the elf could offer any more aid. She had a gnawing suspicion that Noi wasn't as kind and innocent as she let on; if Ginny had refused her help and gone outside in just her nightgown and her hair in a riot of tangles, she was fairly certain that Noi would have stopped her—or woken Draco. And the way the elf narrated her hairstyle like a tabloid journalist was just plain weird.

She bit her lip as she clicked the French doors shut behind her, then turned to face the sun. Her fourth day in Thailand had dawned bright and fresh, thanks to a mid-night rainstorm. Even though the air was still too warm and the sun was too bright, Ginny no longer felt like she was suffocating as soon as she stepped onto the high veranda overlooking the ocean.

She eyed the psuedo-jungle warily, wondering if it contained any camouflaged photographers. Glossy magazines kept appearing on the coffee table and she kept reading them despite herself. Thanks to the attention of the house elf, she was coiffed and photo-ready. How fake. How utterly, ridiculously fake. She hated herself for a moment, then Noi, then Draco, and then the invisible photographers.

"The young Mrs. Malfoy is clearly enjoying the local flavors this morning as she sips her cha-yen from the veranda of the Malfoy's island getaway," she said aloud in a high, obnoxious voice, imitating Noi and Witch Weekly in one go.

"The blissful bride has styled her hair in a relaxed fashion. She is wearing a custom-made, Tailleur-original dressing gown in a light silk, perfect for a tropical locale like Southeast Asia. What she wears underneath is a secret that only the undoubtedly happy Mr. Malfoy knows."

"I'm happy, am I?"

Ginny whirled around, sloshing a bit of the sweet drink over the edge of the railing. Draco, his hair mussed from bed, moved from his spot in the doorway and came up behind her, placing his hands on the bamboo railing on either side of her waist.

"Turn around and watch the sun come up, darling," he whispered, and Ginny caught the obvious cynicism in his voice. "It'll look pretty in high-gloss."

She obeyed, resting her arms against the rail too. He stole a sip of her tea, and for a moment, she reflected how utterly normal all of this would seem to the outsider. Which, of course, was the point. But still, it did funny things to her chest when he behaved like this—sipping her tea, kissing her neck while the sun lit the sky with golds and reds—and it weighed heavily on her stomach. That stupid dream.

With a sigh, she tilted her head to give him better access. She half-heartedly wondered if this was what the girls in Playwitch felt like. Or any model, really. She was really nothing but a doll at this point.

"Are you going to work on your runes again today?" she asked hopefully. He'd kept her inside for most of the past two days, and while it had been boring to be cooped up with little to do while Draco translated runes like his life depended on it, it was better than what had happened on the beach. She'd done everything he'd asked of her since that horrible morning, and thankfully he hadn't asked for much.

"I think so," he said, still attending to the sensitive skin near her collarbone. She shivered in spite of herself.

He straightened and rested his hands on her waist, pulling her close. She could feel the rise and fall of his bare chest through her thin silk robe, and she tried to look calm and model-like as the golden sun hit their faces.

"That's enough," Draco murmured, gently pulling her back toward the door. "I want breakfast."

* * *

Based on the number of thin scars that crossed Charlie's skin, Hermione had been with Blaise Zabini for four days. She ran her fingers over the six pink lines on his right arm, then reached over him to check the fresher ones on his left. Twelve total. Blaise added three new ones every day.

Charlie groaned in his sleep.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Be still." To her relief, he obeyed and was quiet.

He hadn't woken in all that time, and while Hermione had done her best to ascertain that this was due to some spell or magic and not an injury, it still worried her. She'd tried to ask Blaise about it, but that had only resulted in the second day's injuries. The third and fourth had been unprovoked, but Blaise seemed to have a sick need to slice open Charlie's skin—while Hermione watched. She'd tried to look away the second day, and he'd just made them deeper.

She stood and walked around the room, stretching her legs and trying to remember what it felt like to run, especially outside. Not that she'd ever been much of a runner; sports hadn't been her thing, ever, but now that she'd been kept indoors for months she missed it. Missed drawing lungfuls of air in and feeling her heart pound in her chest—the real kind of pounding that came from athleticism and strength, not the kind that came from sheer terror. She'd had enough terror for a life and a half.

Blaise was feeding her well, at least. Back in the dungeons she'd been kept so near starvation that running hadn't even crossed her mind. The thrice-daily meals were simple but healthy, even though she still did every non-magic check for potions and spells that she could.

He wasn't feeding Charlie, though. For the hundredth time, Hermione ran through all the possibilities as clinically as she could. Ron's brother was in some sort of stasis spell, since he didn't seem to dream, and certainly he would have needed fluids by now or he'd have died from dehydration. So the coma, or sleep, or whatever it was, was magic, and it would need to be a powerful, maintained spell.

Was Blaise capable of such a thing? Hermione didn't doubt that Blaise had the magic to send a grown man into a coma, but to keep him in one for a prolonged time seemed difficult. Especially knowing Charlie—he had gumption and would doubtlessly fight the spell. He was probably fighting it right now.

She wished she knew how to help him.

Sinking to her mattress, she felt the first edges of a now daily desperation bubble up into her throat. She half-wished that she was the one in the coma, safe from her brain's endless need to review the facts and imagine impossible escapes—and wondering what on earth had happened to Ginny, and to Bill and Fleur, and all the rest.

With a slight sob, she buried her face in her mattress and willed herself to sleep.

* * *

"How go things with your little pets?"

Blaise set down his drink and turned toward the door of his evening study, which had become his most favorite room in recent weeks. There was less alcohol and more work in the day study. "Hello to you, Pansy."

The dark-haired witch lifted an eyebrow in reply and helped herself to wine. "Gods, Zabini. You would drink the most expensive bottle on a Tuesday afternoon."

He flopped down into a leather armchair and stared at the empty fireplace. "It's been a long week," he said laconically. "I've been bored."

Pansy smirked. "Your pets are boring? Certainly you've been having fun with them—hang on, what have you done with the carpet in here?"

Blaise glanced at the bare floor. "I've lost my taste for carpet," he said dispassionately. "I'm a wealthy, entitled prick. I'm allowed eccentricities."

She snorted. "Only one? I would have thought the rack in the cellar was—"

"You just wish I'd let you see it," he interrupted. "Cigar?"

"I'm already drinking at midday. I'll pass."

"Why are you here, Pansy? I'm not going to shag you on my carpet-less floor and I have no information for you to play with." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. "I'm not telling you a damned thing about my 'pets,' either. I don't care how badly you want to see Granger again. It's not happening."

She threw him a pronounced, fake pout. "You won't even give me a little shag? Gods, you're such an arse," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'd rather shag a dragon. No, I'm here because I have acquired some information of a sensitive nature from one Miss Greengrass."

"The bitchy one or the whiny one?" Blaise said, throwing his legs over the arm of the chair and sent little clouds of smoke directly toward the ceiling.

"Astoria," said Pansy. She sat across from him and took another sip of wine.

Blaise closed his eyes. "I'm listening."

"I don't deal in free gossip, Zabini. I'm going to call in the debt," she said, leaning forward.

He didn't move. "I expect nothing less. Just nothing about Granger."

Pansy pouted dramatically and announced, "Daphne is having an affair."

Blaise chuckled. "Good for her. It's about time she got over Draco and moved on to other pastures."

Pansy leaned forward conspiratorially. "But you see, darling Blaise, she hasn't moved on to other pastures at all."

"She's sleeping with Draco?" Blaise questioned, mildly curious.

With the flush of a good secret, Pansy leaned back and swirled her wine. "Well, not while he's on his 'honeymoon,' obviously. But . . ."

"And Astoria knows because . . . ?"

"Well," said Pansy eagerly, "she found an owl. Daphne has apparently been writing to Draco—several letters, all starting after the wedding, of course—and he's finally written back and suggested a tryst. And suggested other illicit activities, according to Astoria."

Blaise snickered. "Of course. The great Draco Malfoy writes a dirty note and sends it by owl. How unlike him. Who else has Tor told?"

"Probably no one. Daph doesn't know that she knows, so—"

Blaise had his wand leveled at her forehead before she could blink. "Obliviate," Blaise snapped.

He groaned suddenly and grabbed his wrist as though it pained him. "Oh Lucius, you bastard," he hissed. "I want my life back, dammit."

He stood up and faced Pansy's vacant eyes. "Forget that Astoria told you about any letters. Go home, have another drink, take a nap, and learn a little lesson about why proper Slytherins don't enjoy gossip as a pastime," he ordered, then puffed his cigar once more and blew the smoke dramatically at the ceiling before putting it out.

"Show yourself out. I have . . . an unexpected meeting to attend."

Pansy obeyed, her heels clacking across the bare floor. He watched her go, shaking his head. Pansy was a wild card; cunning and vicious one moment and foolish and petty the next. He half wondered if she did it on purpose—but no. She wasn't that brilliant. She was stupid enough to share secrets about the son with the man who was (unwillingly) in the back pocket of the father.

"Salazar, let Draco get back soon," Blaise muttered as he shrugged on his robe. "I don't know how many secrets I can keep."

* * *

Ginny paced the large great room of the villa again, stopping in front of the French door that opened onto the balcony.

"You're being annoying," Draco drawled.

She huffed. "You're being boring," she said cattily, pressing her forehead to the glass.

He chuckled quietly. "Would you like to do something more entertaining?" he asked in a meaningful voice. "I can think of a few . . . games to play."

Ginny whirled around, face red, and he laughed. "There, see? That was entertaining," he said with an amused smile, which faded quickly. "Now quit whinging before I genuinely do need something distracting to do." He bent his head over the yellowing parchment he'd been obsessed with. Moody git.

"I was thinking I'd like to go for a walk," she said, trying to keep her voice level. The thought of another "game" was simultaneously terrifying and, well, the kisses from that dream kept slipping into her mind. He was messing with her head; she wondered if he was slipping something into her drinks to make her feel those things.

"Absolutely not," he said without looking up. He laid the parchment on the low coffee table and flipped it over, leaning forward intently.

Ginny exhaled slowly. "Noi could accompany me." She needed to get out of this room.

He looked up at her sharply. "I said no, Gin."

"It's just a walk," she said, folding her arms as he stood and walked toward her. "What sort of trouble do you think I'm going to—"

He calmly placed a hand over her mouth, pressing the back of her head against the warm glass. "I said no," he said, his voice icy. "I have humiliated you. I have immobilized you. I have placed a fucking Imperio on you. And to be frank, I don't want to do any of those things again. But answer me this, Ginevra: What do I need to do to get your foolish, stubborn head to understand that these stupid fits of independence aren't going to make your life easier?"

She glared at him. He had never insulted her intelligence before, and it stung enough to banish any pleasant dreams from her memory. He removed his hand, and she spat, "Maybe I don't want an easier life. Maybe I want to have a normal life, without having to 'learn' to put up with a brooding, murdering lunatic for a husband!"

His eyes darkened considerably, and he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the door. She squirmed away and whirled around. He watched her, stony-faced, and then took a step toward her. She leapt over the back of a low couch and made a grab for the parchment.

"I go on a walk, or I destroy this," she said calmly, dangling the paper from her finger and thumb.

Draco sucked in a quick breath and gave her a dark look. "Very well. Be back in an hour."

Stunned at how quickly he'd acquiesced, she looked at him, then walked toward the French door. He opened it for her and she stepped outside, then reached back and handed him the parchment. He accepted it with careful hands and the door clicked shut.

She was going to pay for this, she thought, but for now she'd enjoy this moment—and spend some time thinking about what on earth made that parchment so important. She turned toward the staircase that led to the jungle path, and suddenly her vision swam. Dark spots danced in her eyes as she crumpled to the shiny wooden deck.

* * *

She was in bed, in another skimpy nightgown. Ginny rolled over and came face to face with bare skin. Draco was sitting up next to her, once again poring over the stupid parchment.

She tried to sit up, but her brain felt foggy. He absently put a hand on her shoulder with just enough pressure to keep her lying down, and she allowed it. It would be stupid to fight again, especially since he'd proved once more than he was not shy about cursing her.

His hand trailed absently down her bare arm, resting on her elbow as he read. She was keenly aware of how close they were—his naked stomach was just inches from her nose. His fingers played idly with the silky fabric of her nightgown, and she shivered involuntarily.

She couldn't see his face, but his body shifted slightly toward her, and his hand left her arm to once again slide over her stomach. She tried to shift—to turn over, away from him—but he kept her firmly in place, his fingers splaying over her stomach, pressing down just enough to make her gasp with the electric shock of having him so close.

"There's a good girl," he said absently, his hand traveling lower, coming to rest on her hip, so that his arm was stretched across her body.

Very slowly, she reached up and put her hand on top of his. "Draco? I—I'm sorry for earlier." What? she thought. She was not sorry. Was she? Her head felt so foggy.

He chuckled. "Want to make it up to me?" he asked, setting the parchment aside. He leaned over, sliding down so that his face was level with hers. "How about a kiss?"

She lifted her head to close the distance between them and brushed her lips against his. He kissed her back hard, following her when she dropped her head back to the pillow, then reaching up to cradle her head in one hand. As his fingers snagged in her hair, she caught her breath. It was a crime, truly, that someone she hated so much could do such magnificent things with his mouth.

He rolled over slightly, placing one leg in between hers, and she broke the kiss to look up at him, wide-eyed.

"Yes?" he drawled.

"I . . . well, I'm not sure if . . ."

He smirked. "Keep your tongue in your head until you can speak in a full sentence, please. Or until I find something else for you to do with it," he said softly, leaning over to brush her earlobe with his lips. He slowly made his way down her neck and to her collarbone, sliding the strap of the nightgown from her shoulder with a cool finger, then kissing across the hollow of her neck and slipping off the other strap.

This was bad. No, good. Good and very, very bad.

She knew she should push him away. Slap him. Scream a bit. He was pressing her into the softness of the bed and she couldn't think straight. Her body wasn't responding to her like she wanted—it was responding to him, like some kind of traitor. Betrayed by her own limbs—her own blood.

She shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was because there was very, very little fabric between most of him and most of her, or if it was because this was all so very wrong.

He began to slide the nightgown away from her shoulders, his thumbs grazing the tops of her breasts as he pulled the green silk down around her stomach—

She was falling. And there was the floor. Golden, teak, and very hard.

"Alright over there?" Draco drawled, and Ginny slowly pushed herself up from between the couch and the coffee table. It was still daylight, and they were both fully clothed. She took a long, deep breath. Her heart was racing.

"You cursed me," she said quietly.

He looked up from the runes and met her eyes without emotion. "One of the more interesting facets of the Invenio Necto spell is the way it is strengthened among family members, including husbands and wives. I can activate it wandlessly now that the magic recognizes that we're married."

"That explains the crest, I guess," Ginny said, looking at the spot on her wrist where the crest had first shown when he'd cast the spell. The crest wasn't visible, but the skin felt warm.

"No, the crest is because it is a Malfoy family spell, created by a Malfoy," Draco said, looking back at the runes. "One with an ego."

"There are Malfoys without egos?" she asked, trying not to act as petulant as she felt. She leaned back against the floor to stare at the golden ceiling. "Who invents curses to make their family members lose consciousness?"

Draco sighed. "The House of Malfoy was divided back then. Long, long ago, when the family lived in France."

Ginny wondered if that was how the elder Madame Tallieur knew about the curse—and how to remove it. Some sort of special French knowledge of evil family curses. They probably had courses at Beauxbatons about them, she thought sarcastically.

"If the curse recognizes me as family, could I use it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not teaching you, and you have no wand. I've never seen my mother do it, but I'm fairly certain my father has placed it on her."

Ginny shuddered. From all that she'd seen, Narcissa and Lucius were perfectly happy together in their own depraved way, but apparently, there was still no real trust. "So Malfoy husbands just go around cursing their wives? That seems extremely healthy."

Draco leaned forward. "The egotistical Malfoy was a woman, Ginevra. There is nothing that says Malfoy women aren't powerful. There just haven't been any for a few generations. In fact, the last time there was a Malfoy woman, there was a Weasley woman."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

He smiled. "Only that my parents were very selfish by not having a second child. I might have had a sister."

She'd be all the evil of Daphne, Astoria, and Pansy rolled into one wealthy (and probably gorgeous) hellion of a woman, Ginny thought, and decided to say nothing on the subject.

"Um, who wrote that?" she asked, nodding toward the parchment spread across the coffee table at eye level. "Is it post-Latin?"

Draco groaned. "I wish it was that simple. The Latin-influenced spells are so much easier than the early Druidic ones."

Ginny looked at the runes. Upside down, they looked like bird tracks. "And you're obsessed with them because you don't know what happened when . . . when we . . ."

"I'm obsessed with them because I think there's a sporting chance my father will kill you if we don't figure it out," he said candidly, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "And there's enough talk of 'bound lives' in this that I'm not too certain that I wouldn't die with you."

Ginny licked her lips. "What was it supposed to do?" All she'd known at the time that he'd cast the spell was that it was black, black stuff. Any spells that required what the blood spell required were evil.

He shrugged. "It was supposed to make me powerful. Because, apparently, the magical power I was born with is not enough to satisfy certain people."

Pushing herself off the floor, Ginny sat opposite him. "Well, are you more powerful now?"

"It's hard to tell," he said with a sigh.

"Why would it just make the man more powerful? I thought Druids were supposed to be all for fairness. The Latin magic is the stuff of hierarchy and dominion. That's why your egotistical ancestors used Latin and not Druidic stuff to make the stupid Invenio-"

"The incantation is Latin, remember? Sang Primorum? No, of course you don't remember."

Ginny wondered if the way his eyes flicked to hers before they went back to the page held a hint of pain. It would make sense. The events of that evening probably hadn't been how he'd imagined his wedding night either.

She bit her lip. "So it's a pre-Latin spell with a Latin incantation?" she asked, staring at the page. "Are you sure there's not something missing?"

Draco opened his mouth as if to retort, then shut it suddenly. He flipped the parchment over and scanned the markings on the other side. "Wait a moment," he whispered, the command laced with hesitancy as he finished the thought. "Ginevra," he said slowly, "have you ever done wandless magic?"

"Not really. Not successfully."

"Try something small. Like, er, lift this paper. Just a basic, first-year levitating charm."

She tried. The paper wriggled and then lay still. She shrugged.

He reached over the coffee table and grabbed her wrist. "Try again. But pick something else. Don't tell me what."

His touch was distracting, but she looked at the pillow on the couch and willed it to hover. He'd grabbed her wrist like that in her dream—and—

The pillow was floating.

"Any luck?" Draco said, his eyes closed.

"Yeah."

He opened his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I think—I think I know what happened when we—when I did that spell."

Ginny realized she was slightly alarmed by the fact that there was no hint of a drawl in his voice. Draco was, for the first time in recent memory, unmistakably afraid of something, and this unnerved her far more than his next order: "Give me your arm and relax. It'll hurt less that way."

She did, watching as he drew a small bit of blood out with his wand, dropping into an empty scotch glass that Noi hadn't picked up. He repeated the same thing with his own blood, then muttered a few dark-sounding words, swirling their blood together in the cup. The red liquid shone white.

"Fuck," Draco whispered, his eyes bright with . . . was it fear? "Ginevra —this is very important: have you managed to improve your skills as an Occlumens yet?"

* * *

Lucius lifted his cloak carefully, keeping the end from trailing on the bloody, grimy floor. He ignored the two figures clinging at each other in the corner and instead turned to face the sullen young man leaning in the doorframe.

"Do I need to remind you how important it is that you find this information, Master Zabini?" he said, lifting his cane with both hands. "If we get Shacklebolt, we get the Order of the Phoenix."

"I can do it," Blaise said slowly. "They're very pliable, especially the girl. And anyway, I have the Mudblood upstairs playing right into my hands."

Lucius smiled. "Then get me what I want," he said, clasping Zabini on the shoulder and giving his left arm a squeeze. "He's been deep in hiding ever since Draco took Ginevra from his Muggle sister's house."

The younger wizard winced. "Ever since Draco cursed the sanity from his nephew, you mean," he said quietly, but he stepped away from the door. He walked over to the two prisoners and squatted down beside them, reaching out to tenderly sweep the woman's pale hair from her face.

"Don't touch her—" gasped the man, wrapping his arms more tightly around the woman.

Blaise smiled comfortingly. "No need to fret, William. I was just going to ask if Fleur would like to see her sister again. Gabrielle is such a lovely little . . . blossom." He patted Fleur's head sweetly. "And I happen to know exactly where she is."

* * *

A/N: Today, August 17, 2012, is the fourth anniversary of the day that I stayed up until 3:00am doing one of the most scary things I've ever done: deciding to try my hand at writing a story. I've learned so much, and most of it is thanks to my reviewers, readers, and friends (especially those at The DG Forum!). Thank you for the reviews, PMs, and emails of encouragement. Thanks for sticking with me, because I don't deserve it. You guys are the best, and while I don't write for the reviews, I DO write for you.

As always, thanks to enchantedstarlight for faithful beta reading and encouragement. And thanks to scubarang for a faithful friendship, honest input, and putting up with lengthy phone calls during which I may or may not have freaked out a little about what happens in Chapter 20.

Please review. Because that will definitely help keep me from freaking out about Chapter 20. ;)


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